Breaking Protocol
by Sub-Zero MKA
Summary: Ward and May have a system in place for their affair. The rules are clear and in place to minimize risk of being found out. But when a crisis and feelings arise and lives are put in serious danger, everything gets put on the line. Rated M for language and content.
1. Behind Closed Doors

_**A/N:**__ Notice: this will be a MayWard story, the one I've been promising. If that, for some reason makes you physically ill, turn back now, as this isn't the story for you. Otherwise, read on and enjoy. :)_

_**Breaking Protocol**_

_**Behind Closed Doors**_

SHIELD, like all multinational organizations, was a bureaucracy at its very core. Whether the agents within it liked it or not, there was an order, a protocol with which they handled their business, and their personal lives. These protocols were put in place to make life much easier than it otherwise would have been. Agents like Maria Hill could honestly and wholeheartedly attest to that.

Protocols were not principles, nor were they suggestions. They were not there to offer opinions on how agents should have conducted themselves. They were hard and fast rules meant to be followed down to the very syllable. If a rule stated that an agent shall not crawl through the air vents and shoot nerf darts at people as they passed by, then he was to be expected not to crawl through the air vents and shoot nerf darts at people as they passed by. When agents didn't follow the rules, there were consequences to be paid. Some light, such as rookie symposium duty; some heavier, like reassignment and outright dismissal. The latter was a rarity, which was why those types to protocol divergences were avoided.

More often than not, agents followed protocol. The rules weren't unreasonable, and were fairly easy to follow. One, however, that seemed to always he broken with callous disregard was Section 3, Paragraph 5, Bullets 15 and 16, which were under Employee Relations. The rules stated, _15) Agents shall not engage in romantic relations, sexual or otherwise, with other agents within their department; 16) Agents shall not engage in romantic relations, romantic or otherwise, with other agents that they are either exclusively partnered with or members of the same task force._

This rule, dubbed the 'Fraternization Rule', was the single most broken rule in all the protocol. SHIELD agents may have been the best of the best, but they were also human. When they took a liking to someone, it was only natural to act on it. The fear was that relations would have distracted agents from their duties. This was already proven with an incident in Bahrain, which was the spearhead for this rule in the first place. And while such another incident hadn't occurred again in the fifteen years since, Director Fury thought better safe than sorry and kept it in.

Agent Grant Ward was a stickler for obeying all the rules. He even kept a copy of the SHIELD guidelines in his bedside table to casually peruse at his leisure. Everyone who found out about it made fun of him, but he didn't care. There was something to be said about being looked at by the administration as a good egg. He rarely broke protocol by mistake, and when he did, he submitted himself to his supervisor, Agent Phil Coulson, promptly for discipline.

It was even rarer for him to break it intentionally. When he did, he had a damn good reason. His reason this time was lying next to him, asleep and snoring softly. Grant glanced over and ran his eyes over Melinda May's bare back. Taut back muscles carried the soft sheen of fresh sweat. Her hair was splayed across the pillow, so he could see the love marks he placed across her neck and collarbone.

They had just had another night of drunken sex after a mission at a Hydra sleeper base in the Czech Republic. From what he could remember, it was wild and rough with plenty of scratching, cursing, biting and pulling. Pain, sexual pain, helped him forget killing five people. They were bad people, but they were still people. Sex with May was just that, sex. There was no emotion, no love between the two. Just two drunk people fucking each other's brains out for an hour or so and then going on about their business the next morning.

Alcohol was a prerequisite. If they weren't drunk, they didn't have sex. They needed to forget what they did the night before to make sure that they didn't possibly develop any feelings toward one another. They had a system, a system of booze, rough sex and forgetting the previous night. It worked for them because they were both committed to making it work. They both knew the dangers of love between two teammates (Grant suspected that Melinda knew that danger more than she was letting on). They knew how dangerous it was going to become when one, or both, of them let their feelings get involved. That was a risk that they were both willing to take, because the sex was just too damn good. Why else would they keep coming back for more, knowing that they were breaking protocol and putting quite a bit on the line?

Grant stopped looking at Melinda's back and turned over to fall asleep. He would forget what they did tonight, and wake up to complete the cycle once again, until next time. He could have stopped at any time and found some other why to unwind, but why? It was working just fine, and not too many guys at SHIELD could say that they banged the Cavalry. Not that he'd do something so stupid. It was agreed upon that they would keep it a secret, for both obvious and not obvious reasons. The obvious reasons were obvious, which was why they were unsaid. The not obvious reasons, Melinda's reputation being on the line and questions about whether Grant would have the focus to have a relationship and be Skye's SO and a contributing member of the team being raised, were actually, in their eyes, the more important reasons for their secrecy.

Besides, it was actually a little fun to have it be a secret from everyone. It made all the little comments he made to her during their downtime with the team where only they knew what he actually meant all the more amusing.

And it also meant that he and he alone could know that he got to see a side of Melinda that no one else got to see. A Melinda May full of unrestrained passion, eyes dilated with lust and want, every curse word under the sun bubbling out of her mouth and into his as they kissed as if the world were coming to an end. The way she whispered his name during their love making sent chills up his spine each and every time he thought about it. The sight of her hands tightly clasping his as she reached ecstasy, the look on her face and in her eyes as she rode through her climax was… breathtaking.

He wouldn't, he couldn't possibly trade that in for anything. He didn't want to stop, and he was confident that she didn't want to either. Protocol said that what they were doing was wrong, but, as the old saying went, if doing May was wrong, he didn't want to be right.

That didn't mean anything else, though. It was just sex. No love, no emotions after it was done. Anything extra was risking too much.


	2. Taking AIM

_**A/N: **__Thanks to everyone who reviewed, faved amd followed this story; I really appreciate all the support. Now, to the plot!_

_**Taking AIM**_

Rays of early morning sunlight peaked in through the crack in the curtains the next morning. The hotel room was a mess. An empty whisky bottle with two accompanying glasses sat on the table, two overturned chairs lakes across the floor and a line of clothes, both Grant's and Melinda's led from the table to the bed. The sheets were just barely covering Grant's feet and the bed's comforter was slung to the floor.

He awoke that morning to two very familiar things. The throbbing, nearly unbearable headache that always accompanied his hangover, and Melinda up and already getting dressed. She moved with all the grace she had when sober, making him believe that she couldn't get hungover. It didn't surprise him. There were a lot of things that Melinda just wouldn't allow herself to succumb to that normal people just had to deal with. Aging being the first and foremost thing on that list.

Looking unattractive was another. Even with a sleep addled face, bed/after sex hair strewn in every which way and reddened eyes, she was still gorgeous. Being in her underwear, black with red lace, didn't hurt either.

"Surprised too see you awake this early," she commented without having ever looked in his direction.

He tried to say something witty in return, but ended up gagging on his own tongue. She rolled her eyes and threw him something. "Take that. Water's on the table." A pair of pills with the initials 'JS' on them. Whatever they were, Simmons was a godsend to the bleary hungover agent. "Sober up. We have a meeting with Coulson in thirty."

He closed his eyes and let the pills do their work. He felt his headache and nausea fade away in record time. The wonders of SHIELD medical science never ceased to amaze him. Clearing his throat, he shook his head and threw the covers off of him. "Thanks. Same time next week?"

She very obviously eyed his bare crotch before smirking. "Don't see why not," she said while opening the door to leave.

"What, no kiss goodbye?"

She stopped, and for a second he thought he had said something wrong. That was until she walked back and sashayed toward him. _Wow, that actually worked._ She leaned down once she reached the bed, their foreheads almost touching. His heart starting racing as she pursed her lips. He prepared to close his eyes and lifted his hand to cup her cheek when he heard something rattle on the bedside table. Her aviators. "No," she stated as she slipped them on and strode out the door.

He sighed and took a moment to get a hold of himself. "Temptress." He stood and glared down at his half-aroused manhood. "Doesn't take much," he said as he strode to the bathroom.

Showered, dressed and almost completely sober, Grant walked up the ramp to the Bus and was greeted by a grinning Skye. Grant knew from experience that a grinning Skye was an snarky Skye. His fears were confirmed when she gave him an appraising look and then an appreciative nod. "Gotta say, SO, the way you and May were slingin' them back last night, I half expected you to be doing your best hungover fratboy impersonation. Nice job."

He sighed wearily. Fortunately, he had already heard all of her best material. "You can thank Simmons for that. The girl's a miracle worker."

"Mm." She then smirked and easily kept up with his long, but slow strides. "So, I couldn't help but noticed that you and May were the only ones still up when we all went to bed. Didja," she elbowed him in the ribs and clicked her tongue while throwing him a suggestive wink.

He somehow managed not blush or look flustered and instead rolled his eyes. "Melinda May is an esteemed colleague and a close friend. I'd be remiss to even thinking of trying anything with her." His lying skills were top notch, he was told.

"So, ya got stone-walled. Tsk, it happens, Bro. Besides, she's too old for you."

"If I go any younger, I'd be a pervert," he replied with a amused inflection. She looked at him strangely. "What? You mean Melinda _isn't_ 21?"

Skye's hazel eyes lit up with amusement. "O. M. G. Did Mr. Roboto just tell a joke?! Wait, I think I can hear hell freezing over."

"You know I have a sense of humor. I just choose not to make an ass out of myself every waking second."

"No, just every waking minute." He gave her an exasperated look as Coulson walked up to meet them. "AC."

"Ward, Skye, everyone is waiting." He walked quickly and led them into the meeting room.

Skye practically skipped into the meeting room and sat next to Simmons at the holo-table. Ward sat on a stool near the door. "So, what's today's crisis?" she asked Coulson.

"AIM," he stated simply while Fitz fired up the holographic projector within the table.

"Aim for what?"

"No, AIM. Advanced Idea Mechanics. They were the ones financing the Extremis serum research and development. They just attacked a research facility in Ireland."

"I thought they were just a business that dabbled with science," Ward said. "Terrorism shouldn't be in their wheelhouse."

"It isn't, an' they were," Fitz answered. "When Aldrich Killian was killed, 'at left a huge void in th' power structure. Everyone from every which corner was jockeyin' fur position. Well, now it's spillin' ower into th' public sectur."

An image of a black haired woman of Caucasian decent wearing a yellow and green tight fitting uniform appeared on the projector. "Monica Rappaccini," Coulson informed, "AIM's new Scientist Supreme after Killian was killed. She's a genius biochemist and a world renowned authority on biological toxins. She was one of the lead scientists on the Extremis project, along with Killian and Maya Hansen. When the former was taken out of the picture, she was quick to jump into his spot. She was influential in the recent power struggle, and managed to collect half of AIM's membership behind her. The other half…" He pressed a button, and Monica's photo disappeared, replaced by the image of a grotesquely ugly being with a head at least ten times bigger than what it should have been. His entire diminutive body was attached to what looked like a rocket chair. "George Tarleton, now known as MODOK, Mental Organism Designed Only for Killing. He, like Rappaccini, is extremely intelligent and extremely dangerous. He has powers we don't yet fully understand. What we do know is that he has the other half of AIM backing him, and he isn't backing down from Rappaccini."

"So, they fight and kill each other off," Ward posited thoughtfully, "What does SHIELD want us to do about it?"

"Besides protecting innocents, capture one of them." Melinda pressed a button and brought a world map on the projector. Over a hundred yellow dots filled various countries. "AIM has dozens upon dozens of sleeper cells around the globe. Even if the main body kills itself, they're still out there, and with no one to take orders from…"

"Chaos. Everyone following their own agendas and goals. There's no way SHIELD would be able to handle all of it, most happening simultaneously. That's where we come in. Rappaccini and Tarleton will be too busy going after each other to notice us subtlety moving things in our favor. First order of business is to get to that facility in Ireland and find out what they took. Until then, dismissed."

Grant nodded and stood from the stool he had been sitting on. A new day's a new mission. While he didn't care for them by even the thinnest stretch of the word, he did enjoy sticking it to organizations like AIM. Them, Hydra, Al Qaeda, the Ten Rings, there was something about them that seemed… legitimate. It wasn't right to think of it that way, he knew. Still, it was better than fighting Centipede seeming every week.

"Ward, before you leave." Grant turned around to find Coulson handing a folder to him. "Rappaccini will be easier to capture than MODOK, so bring yourself abreast of her."

Grant groaned and took the folder. "We're really not calling him MODOK, are we?"

Coulson smiled and shrugged. "Why not. It's a catchy name, if not a little cheesy."

"A little? It's full blown farcical." Coulson gave him an amused look. "What? I know words, too." Grant smirked and turned on his heels to head for the cockpit. Another day, another mark. He opened the file and eyed Rappaccini's picture. Not bad, for a bad girl. She wasn't any Melinda, but then, who was? From the looks of it, he already knew that she was going to be trouble. He also knew that he'd rather be locked in a room with her than that Tarleton freak. _Seriously, Coulson? MODOK?_

_**A/N:**__ Hopefully, you all have already seen Iron Man 3 and thus has already heard of AIM. Rappaccini and MODOK are two comic characters associated with AIM, so you can Google them if you want to know more about them. _


	3. Move, Countermove

_**A/N: **_More MayWard flirting.

_**Not Unlike Chess**_

**Name: **Dr. Monica Rappaccini

**Alias(es):** Scientist Supreme of AIM

**Known Relatives:** Thanasee Rappaccini (see file, classified at Level 5) [Daughter]; Lorcan Rappaccini [Son] _(Grant scoffed. "Thanasee? Really?")_

**Affiliation:** Advanced Idea Mechanics (AIM)

**Base of Operations:** Mobile; one of almost one hundred bases worldwide

**Alignment:** Bad _(For some reason, Grant snickered at this.)_

**Identity:** Classified at Level 4

**Citizenship:** American

**Marital Status:** Widowed

**Occupation:** Scientist; potential terrorist

**Characteristics:**

**Gender:** Female

**Height:** 5'7

**Weight:** 125

**Eyes:** Blue

**Hair:** Black

Within the cockpit, Grant flipped through the rest of the dossier, casually reading through what pieces of her biography were included. Apparently, she had quite a few romantic trysts with Bruce Banner years ago. _Hm, that's interesting. Wonder if anything came of it._ He made a mental note to contact Dr. Banner and ask him about her, should it actually come to that. "What do you think?"

Melinda had been sitting in silence for the last half hour, as she was wont to. It was one of the many reason why he decided that he enjoyed spending time with her. She didn't believe in excessive chatter for the sake of filling silence. Silence could be gold, as he learned over time. It gave him a forum to reflect in peace without being unnecessarily asked what he was thinking about, unless his facial expression actually warranted it. In that case, he enjoyed her even more because she always had a wise word to say… more like imply. He seemed to always draw his own conclusion without her ever saying anything. Weird.

Coulson said that he realized the same thing years ago. He also said that May was a lot more chatty in years past. Heh, a chatty Melinda. It almost seemed like an oxymoron. She was likely the quietest person he had ever met, and yet, she was the most talkative in her silence. He had no idea how she did it. However she did it, he really –

"…coconut chicken pie with Fitz's sloppy seconds."

He shook his head and gave her a strange look. "Wait, what?"

"You weren't listening to a word I was saying."

He had apparently been staring at her ever since he had asked her what she thought. It was turning into something of a bad habit. He couldn't blame himself (who would blame him/herself). She was quite a delight to look at. What, with her high cheekbones, her soft lips, her strong, but deep brown eyes. He could just stare at her for hours. Damn, he was doing it again. He tore his gaze from off of her and then cleared his throat. "Oh. Sorry."

"Anyway. I said I don't know. AIM could be up to anything, but whatever it is, it likely isn't good."

She was right about that. All these superterrorist organizations were all the same. Their goals and agendas may have been different, but at the core, they were all the same terrible, terrible people with self-centered attitudes. "I agree. Where in Ireland are we headed?"

"Not in. There's an underwater facility about two miles off the west coast."

He nodded. It was going to be another few hours and he was already struggling to think of something to talk about to pass the time. It wasn't like there was a plethora of appropriate topics to discuss en route to a mission. Key word being appropriate. He could have teased her about all of the amazing things she did with her hands and tongue last night, what he could remember, but that would hardly seem approp–

"About this morning," Melinda started after a few moments of silence. "Sorry if I led you on."

He could hear the smirk in her voice, even if one wasn't visibly showing. "Are you? Are you really sorry, you tease?"

She actually smirked and reached down to adjust something in there console. "Tease? I was just getting my sunglasses. Not my fault you read into it wrong."

He breathed out a chuckle. "Oh, yeah? Then how do you explain that whole swinging your hips?"

Her smirked increased an iota. "You were watching my hips?"

He totally was. He couldn't help because they were amazing. Amazing to look at, touch as they kiss, grip tightly while he was drilling– ahem. "Couldn't help it with the exaggerated movement you were doing, to lead me on, you seductress."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "Yes. I'm a regular Natasha Romanoff," she replied, deadpan.

"Please, you know you wrote the book." He turned to face her, and smiled when he saw her fighting a grin. "Come on, just one kiss. I won't tell anyone." He was not begging. This was… bartering. What?

She pursed her deliciously gorgeous lips for a moment, then shook her head. "Nah, I don't think so."

His shoulders sunk in faux disappointment. "Am I so ugly Melinda, that you wouldn't even spare me one small, solitary kiss?" She didn't answer, but put on an awkward face and cleared her throat. He pretended to panic. "Hey, wait!"

"Relax; it was a joke. With those cheekbones, you could be a male model."

He smirked at the subtle compliment. Melinda really did have to do things in a roundabout way, didn't she? "I had to go undercover as an underwear model a few years ago. If you're good, maybe I'll show you the snaps I took."

Her mouth twitched involuntarily. "Nothing I haven't seen already."

"That didn't stop you from rubbing your thighs together." His smirk was the very epitome of smug as she whip her head toward him. "What? Thought I didn't notice?"

"Hm." She looked him up and down before turning back to the deep, blue skies.

Move, countermove.

Flirting with Melinda May was not unlike playing chess. Every move, every word said between the two of them was to establish the one after it. It was actually quite brilliant to watch. It went beyond to cliché double entendre that most people resorted to nowadays. It kept him on his toes.

He liked it. He liked it a lot.

He liked her a lot. Not that he'd ever admit it. Because a) Melinda May didn't do love, or romance. It was a miracle that she was willing to go _this_ far with him in the first place. He didn't like to think about it too much. Anyway, b) they already had a good thing going. Sex with her was amazing, from what he could remember, and judging from the scratch marks on his back and chest, she was enjoying it, too. Bringing emotions and feelings and all that sappy crap into this was only going to ruin things. Besides, they were already breaking protocol; no need to break it even further.

And besides that, c) if they started dating, there would be no way they'd be able to hide it on such a enclosed space like the Bus. Sex was easy to hide when they confined it to hotel rooms, and once in the back of the SUV. Dating, when cooped up with a busybody like Skye, was next to impossible. She'd find out in hours and would never let him hear the end of it.

Not to mention Phil. He was surprised that arguably the best agent at SHIELD hadn't already found out. Or maybe he did and was just waiting for them to mess up so he could tear into them in a fit of jealous rage. Because Phil was still in love with Melinda, because they had been married earlier in life, but something came up that caused them to divorce. These were established facts (suppositions) that everyone on the Bus but Phil and Melinda knew and accepted. So, of course Phil would be jealous that Grant was dating his ex-wife. In which case, he was definitely keeping his mouth shut. Fate had allowed them this much reprieve; and he wasn't planning in tempting it any further.


	4. Sel-mAIMing Blitzkrieg

_**Self-mAIMing Blitzkrieg**_

When they reached Ireland hours later, May landed the Bus on an airstrip owned by SHIELD allies. Since the facility was two miles out to sea, they borrowed a boat and set sail. Ward was, as always, alert and cognizant of everything going on around him once the mission began. Surrounded by as much water as they were, they were in a vulnerable position if they were to be attacked at that moment. Armed with the Nite-nite rifle and a spar gun at his hip, he kept shifting his focus from one side of the boat to the other.

"Unless you're worried about a shark attack, you can ease up a little," Skye said from the back of the boat.

"Always be prepared," he replied in a reasonable tone.

She snickered, and he knew right then what he had said. "Boy scout," she teased.

The others shared a laugh as Ward slumped his shoulders and sighed softly. While he may have been a boy scout, which he didn't think he was, though reading the SHIELD handbook for fun didn't do wonders for his claim, he stood by his reasoning. If AIM was as technologically advanced as everyone claimed they were, there could have been latent traps and weapons left over. Of course, that begged the question of what exactly he thought he would be able to do to a highly advanced piece of weaponry with two glorified tranquilizer guns.

He sighed again, which then turned into a deep inhale. The sea air always put him at ease, though he could see why some didn't like it. Simmons looked like she was about to lose a week's worth of lunch in the next few seconds. Coulson was quite a bit better, but he didn't seem like his normal self. Ward shook his head. "How long until we get there?" he asked May, who was conducting the boat.

"A few minutes."

"Right." He tried his best not to admire her from afar. Which was, strangely, not as hard as he thought it would be. Being on a mission helped; if he was too busy concentrating on his assignment, then he couldn't think about how incredible it was that she could fly a plane and drive a boat. …nope. Nice try, Melinda.

In the distance, Ward could see a tall metal platform surrounded by a wooden dock. There were a few empty docked around the platform, but there wasn't anything in the way of people. Ward quirked an eyebrow and pulled a pair of small binoculars from a pouch on his combat vest. He saw the faint traces of burn marks on the black metal of the platform. "We got scorch marks, sir," he reported.

"Makes sense," Coulson replied while loading his gun. "Witnesses near the coast recalled hearing faint explosions out at sea. When we get there, do a perimeter check and then take up point when we go inside."

"Yes sir." Minutes passed and Melinda docked the boat by the platform and then jumped out to secure it. Grant jumped out after her and carefully did a perimeter sweep. He moved quickly, Nite-Nite rifle trained in front of him. Around the corner, what was remaining of a human body, dressed in a yellow hazmat suit, was hunched against the wall. In its hand was a silver handgun, with glowing green modules running along the sides and down the handle. "Got a melted body, and a weird looking gun. Other than that, nothing."

_=Alright, leave it for now and we'll check it out when we're about to leave. Fitz got the door open.=_

Grant nodded, even though he knew Coulson couldn't see and walked around to the entrance. Inside the entrance was a path that led directly to an elevator; a few feet inside the door were a pair of mangled and melted pieces of metal, one on each side and about seven feet tall. "Some kin' ay scanner, mebbe," Fitz offered as he took a closer look. The others walked into the elevator. There was something on the wall that had been covered with yellow spray paint.

The elevator shaft transitioned from metal to glass about halfway down, revealing the underwater life under the surface. Along with the sea life, the twisted, mangled husked of metal vehicles were collected near the bottom of the platform.

"Ward, take point. May, bring up the rear," Coulson order once the elevator stopped. "Get on a terminal, and see if you can find anything, Skye."

It was quiet. The once, assuming, busy research installation was a veritable ghost town. The soft ticking of a clock on the receptionist's desk in the corner was the only sound not being made by the team that Grant could hear. While he was hoping to find some kind of survivors, he hoped he didn't with as many bodies that were on the ground.

Cameras lined the corner between the top of the walls and the ceiling. If they were still working, Skye should have been able tap into them and find out just what happened here. Because it looked like a war tore through.

Grant watched Skye finally stalk into a nearby room and sit behind a computer, with May close behind. "I'll go ahead and check things out, sir."

He and FitzSimmons walked around the corner and tiptoed around the abundance of dead bodies littering the floor, all of them dressed in the same yellow hazmat suits. Most of them were missing one or more limbs, with a few actually missing parts or all of their head. Silver or gold rifles with unlit modules were laying nearby. "Bloody hell… what happened here?"

"They said that the facility was attacked, just not how badly." They followed the trail of bodies deeper into the building. The further in they went, the denser the collection of bodies became. Corpses were collected in the halls, adjacent corridors and within doorways that were lined along the wall. Grant peeked his head inside one and raised an eyebrow. "Fitz, did Coulson say what kind of facility this was?"

"A research facility. He didne say whit they were researchin', which has me worried." Leo took a look inside the room and gasped. "Och mah God! Is 'at a gravimetric frequency acceleratur?!"

Granted frowned and looked at the large machine in question. "A what?"

"A gravimetric frequency acceleratur." Fitz approached it and took a close look into all of the inner workings of the machine. It took a while before he realized that Grant still wouldn't know what that was. "It, ah, increases th' pull ay gravity ower a given area. Ohhh, do ye realize th' level ay technology that's needed to make a machine ay thes size an' complexity?! Bide, thes is a electromagnetic degeneration sequencer! Ooh, is 'at a universal polarization engine?! Mah God, I've died an' gain to heaven!"

Grant rolled his eyes and walked out of the room. Fitz was smart enough not to incinerate himself while messing around with all of that stuff. "Aw, isn't he just adorable when he's like this?" Jemma asked dreamily.

More like neurotic. "Adorable isn't exactly the word I'd use." They walked through a few more labs and found the same thing. Technology and machines that he had no hope of understanding filled the majority of them, along with a number of dead bodies. Whatever force AIM sent after this building had been incredibly thorough.

"Oh, look." Grant looked up and saw a massive hole in the wall at the end of the corridor. None of the other rooms had much damage, much less holes where their doors should have been. "I reckon that whatever they were after was in there."

"Makes sense." Jemma started walking toward it. "Wait, get behind me," Grant warned.

"Oh, relax. I doubt that anyone is actually still here." She strode inside the hole and nearly jumped out of her skin. "Oh bloody hell!"

Grant hurried and rushed passed her. "What the shit?" Inside the room, the empty room, was the massive, impossibly large head and relatively flyspeck limbs of MODOK laid on the side of his head, seemingly unconscious. Streaks of blood and some other greenish fluids leaked from his nose or mouth, as well as from various cuts and burns along his face.

"Is that… MODOK?" Jemma asked while she huddled close behind him.

Grant took a deep breath. "Yeah, I think so. Coulson, we found Tarleton."

_=MODOK? Crap. Do not engage him. Wait for us to catch up.=_

"I don't think that'll be a problem. Looks like he's unconscious."

"Hey, look." Jemma carefully tiptoed along the wall, around and away from MODOK's unmoving mass, until she reached the far side of the room. "This corner is slightly darker than the rest of the floor and wall."

"Think something was over there?"

"I think so." Jemma pulled something out of her pocket and began to scan the area. Grant eyed MODOK warily, and then turned when four sets of footsteps reached the doorway.

"Whoa, he's somehow uglier in person," Skye commented. She tried to get a closer look, but Coulson stopped her.

"Do not get close," he enunciated. He pulled his phone out and dialed a number. "This is Agent Coulson requesting superhuman pickup, level ultra. Power dampener and an extra extra large harness."

"I found a directory with all the tech stuff that's here. I could go around with Fitz and do a checklist," Skye offered. Coulson nodded. "Come on, Fitz, let's go on a scavenger hunt."

* * *

**Twenty Minutes Later**

Grant and Coulson watched as a group of SHIELD agents stacked MODOK onto a hover-dolly and transported him into a Quinjet. "How'd he get like that?"

Phil considered Grant for a moment before answering. He sighed. "AIM isn't too kind to their own if they see an experiment in the making. From what I've heard, they turned him into… that, and tried to use him as a weapon. He turned the tables and fled, which was about the time Killian rose to power. After he was taken out by Stark and Potts, MODOK returned and… well, you know the rest."

Grant pursed his lips. Experimenting on their own… something like that was unheard of at SHIELD.

"That was an AIM facility," Phil added. "Skye found the security footage of the attack. Rappaccini and her people broke in, killed everyone, and stole something that MODOK was working on and got out. Took no longer than ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Fast, efficient, ruthless. We're gonna have our hands full trying to stop her. With MODOK out of the way, she'll likely have all or the majority of AIM behind her."

"What did they take?"

"A transitional atmospheric inundator," Skye answered as she walked up. "Fitz said that it evaporates all liquid in a given radius. Up to ten miles, I think."

Phil and Grant frowned. "We need to find Rappaccini and that machine. Whatever she's planning on using it for, it won't be good."


	5. Reality Made Fantasy

_**A/N: **__This one came out a bit more… TV-14 than I expected it to, but it should still be safe for T._

_**Reality Made Fantasy**_

The Bus sliced through the air, en route to nowhere. Skye and Fitz were busy combing through the rest of the directory and information Skye found at the facility. Phil had been on the phone with several of his intel contacts to see if they knew Rappaccini's whereabouts. So far, nothing. She was either well hidden or nonexistent, as Phil's contacts were some of the best in the business at tracking people down. It made them all nervous.

There was a brief discussion on what possible uses for the transitional atmospheric inundator, or TAI for short, AIM could have. Fitz explained that a weapon that evaporated all liquids in, at the most, a ten mile radius could have been devastating in the wrong hands. In AIM's, it would have likely been for mass terrorism, in multiple cities at once if they could have found a way to replicate it in a short period of time. Letting it get into anyone else's but SHIELD's hands was not an option.

That being said, they went their separate ways. Fitz and Skye continued to dissect the information from the AIM facility. Simmons was busy working on antidotes to various known toxins. Rappaccini was a toxins expert and a genius biochemist, so they were going to need their own genius biochemist to counter her. Phil was in his office speaking with Director Fury about getting another task force to give them a hand. From the looks of how utterly efficient AIM was, they were going to need the help. Melinda was, as usual, in the cockpit thinking. But, she was alone.

Grant had chosen to seclude himself in the cargo bay, where he would sometimes go to think by himself. His thoughts had been dominated by AIM for the past hour, to the point that he was getting the urge to go punch something. When that happened, it became a little easier for him to lose his temper, which at this time, was the opposite of conducive to team success. He had to get his mind away from that for a little, and on to something else.

He walked to where the cars were and opened the passenger side door to the SUV. Sliding inside, he closed the door, and then closed his eyes. Predictably, his mind went to the one place where fantasy was so close to becoming reality.

_"Grant." Grant's eyes shot open, and he found himself inside an expensive looking hotel room. The soft bed under him squeaked softly as he shifted his weight to get a look at who called him. His mouth fell open when his eyes met the figure in front of him. Kneeling at the end of the bed, wearing a sheer black peignoir with black lace over the breast with matching lace panties, was Melinda. Across her lips was a seductive smirk that only increased as she slowly, agonizingly so, moved toward him. "Grant," she drawled._

_"H-holy shit, Melinda," was all he could manage._

_"Cat got your tongue, Agent? If not, it will pretty soon."_

_It took him a moment to see where she went with that, but when he did, he grinned impishly. "Well, I am pretty hungry." She finally reached him and straddled his lap. He reached around and grabbed her tight end, giving it a squeeze. "Goddamn."_

_She laughed, a husky sound that exposed her throat when she threw her head back. Her head whipped back forward, the momentum carrying her down into his lips, where she laid down the most intense kiss he had ever been apart of. A soft moan rippled from the pit of his chest, up and out of him and into her. His fingers teased her hair as he cupped the back of her head to push her deeper into the kiss. Her tongue poked his lips, asking for access. His lips separated, only for his tongue to ambush hers and invoke a battle for dominance. _

_Short, manicured nails scratched the back of his head and neck as she brought herself as close as possibly. They were coalesced; two beings made into one by the fires of their passion and love. Grant's heart was beating at a thousand miles a second. Blood was flowing from his head to his lower regions, and his lungs were burning, screaming from air. He granted their wish and pushed her away gently so he could gulp in gratuitous amounts of oxygen. "Goddamn," he said again._

_Melinda was insatiable. As he caught his breath, she tore his short off, literally, and attacked his chest, collarbone and neck with bites, sucks, and little pecks of her lips. Moans and groans rumbled from his throat. "Melinda… God, Melinda." _

_"I want you inside of me," she whispered huskily into his ear. "I want you to make me scream." _

_He grinned savagely and flipped them over so that he was on top. "If that's what you want," he said before attacking her neck and chest in the same manner. Her moans tickled his ears, spurring him on. "That's what you're gonna get." He kissed her throat and then moved lower. "You won't be able to walk straight when I'm done with you."_

_"Mmm," she cooed as she slipped her thumbs under the straps of her to pull her negliee down. He licked his lips like a hungry wolf, ready to devour the succulent little lamb. "Fuck me," she ordered with the most deliciously beautiful smirk he had ever seen._

_He reached of her gown and –_

_*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*_

Grant's eyes shot up with a start. "Who what when? What the hell?"

"Helloooo, Agent Ward? Anyone there?"

It was only Skye. He sighed and rubbed his eyes before opening the car door. "What's… what's up?"

"Um, I'm good. I should be asking _you_ that."

"W-why? Was I talking in my sleep?" _If there's a God, please don't let me have been talking in my sleep._

"No, you were smiling. Like full on 'kid on Christmas morning' smile. It was creepy as shit." She considered him for a healthy moment, concern etched over her face. "You're alright?"

"I'm fine," he answered immediately. "Just… was having a really, really good dream." It was just a dream, but dammit if it didn't feel real. His hands were shaking and his heart was racing. He felt flushed and was in no position to stand up anytime soon.

"Right. Well, anyway, we found something in MODOK's notes that may have told us where Rappaccini and AIM are. AC told me to come find you."

He nodded. Finally, something to get his mind off Melinda. Irony. "Right. I-I'll be there in a sec. Just let me, ah, get myself together."

She looked at him strangely, but nodded. "Oookay. Well, you know where we are, so… we'll be waiting for you." One more discerning look before she turned in her heels and walked off.

When she was gone, he banged his head softly against the headrest and sighed. _I do __not__ have it that bad. I am __not__ falling for her. Nope. It is not. Fucking. Happening._


	6. Into the Beehive

_**A/N:**__ Again, I'd like to say that I really appreciate all of the support you guys are giving this story. This is awesome :)_

_**Into the Beehive**_

Grant, once he calmed down, joined the others in the meeting room. He could feel Melinda looking at him, but was in no position to look back. He took a seat on the other side of the table, next to Fitz. "How nice of you to finally show, Agent Ward." He could hear the annoyance dripping from Coulson's voice.

"I'm sorry, sir." He offered no explanation, because he felt that 'I was fantasizing about making love to our fair pilot/ass kicker' didn't seem like a decent excuse.

Coulson sighed. "It's fine. Like I was telling the others, Fitz and Skye found some notes made by MODOK," that name was still stupid, "and they contain a possible location from Rappaccini." He waited until Fitz fired up the holo-table before he continued. He motioned to the engineer, and he brought up the image of an island in the middle of the Caribbean. "This is Boca Caliente, an island purchased by Aldrich Killian some time ago. We believe that it has served as AIM's headquarters since its inception in the nineties, but that can't be confirmed, nor is it important. In the notes MODOK made, he noted that using the TAI to launch an assault against Rappaccini's forces that were holed up there. It isn't clear whether she's there or not, but it's as good a place to start looking. Even if she isn't, taking the place down will deal them a huge blow."

Grant nodded and, as the others separated to started preparing, approached Fitz. "Did you have a chance to look at that gun I found?"

"Ah did." He pulled up an image of it on the holo-table. "It was jist a gin wi' an advanced particle generatur providin' th' ammunition, insteid ay a clip foo ay bullets." He sighed through his nostrils and gave the holographic image a spin. "I've ne'er actually seen one 'at advanced afair."

"I have a feeling you'll be saying that a lot," Coulson said in a conspiratorial tone.

"Any way you can replicate it and make it nonlethal?" Ward asked. He had a feeling that they would be needing some more fire power to combat AIM. A lot more.

Fitz scoffed and got up to return to the lab. "Ya do remember yoo're talkin' to, reit? I'll hae one by th' time we gie to Boca Caliente."

Ward smirked after the leaving engineer. He started to leave, but stopped when Coulson called after him. "Yes sir?"

"Is there something bothering you, Agent Ward," Phil asked once the room was cleared and they were alone. He sounded genuinely concerned, as was evidenced by his facial expression.

Grant frowned. "No, everything's fine, sir. Why do you ask?"

Coulson powered down the table and then sat down in a stool behind it. Grant took a seat on the other side. He could see the wheels in Coulson's head turning, as if he was figuring out how to phrase his next statement. "I've noticed," he finally said, "that you've been spending a lot of time in the cockpit with May." Grant, to his credit, didn't react. "I know that neither of you are really the most… sociable, so I found that kind of… odd. Not accusing you of anything; I'm just making sure that your past isn't still giving you any trouble."

_Shit shit shit._ Grant held his true reaction in and pressed his lips into a thin line. "Well sir," he started, "I found out some time ago that sitting with Mel- May means that I'll have a quiet setting so I can think. I just like spending time with her because," _she's the most amazing and beautiful woman I've ever been around and I can't stop thinking about her,_ "she's full of wisdom and that's what I find myself needing."

Coulson immediately nodded agreement. Grant mentally sighed in relief. "I can see what you mean. I've gone to her repeatedly when I need to get my head straight. Usually, I just figure it out without her having said a word."

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you about that."

Phil looked at his watch. "It won't be for another four hours until we reach the Caribbean, so I have some time. It's a long story. A really long story."

**Four Hours Later**

"ETA, ten minutes," Melinda announced from the cockpit.

"…and after that, I learned that the answer was in me the whole time, and by not saying anything, Melinda forced me to think for myself, thus me finding the answer without her saying a word."

After two hours, Grant had seriously begun wondering just how long the story was. Now, after four hours, he didn't think it would ever end. Finally. "Why didn't you just say that at the beginning?"

Phil shrugged. "It's a good story. Anyway, you, May and I will be infiltrating the facility, while Fitz, Simmons and Skye stay here. Fitz should be done with that laser gun, so I'd prefer if you used that. These guys wear full body armor, so I'm not sure if the Nite-nite gun will have any affect on them."

Grant nodded. While he was afraid he'd accidentally kill someone because he had the laser beam setting thing up too high, laser pistols were so much cooler than regular guns. "Sounds like a plan, sir." As he said this, Fitz strolled in, a smile across his lips and a sleek black gun in his hands. "Gentlemen, Ah present to ye th' Zap-zap gin." He handed it to Grant, unable to contain his unbridled joy. Grant turned it over in it hand to get a feel for it. "It has its very own positron generatur, plus thee settings; stin, incapacitate an', uh, whit comes efter incapacitate. Kickback is almost nonexistent. So, whit do ye hink?"

He nodded appreciatively. "Sounds good. Thanks. But, um," he looked at Coulson, "let's not call it the Zap-zap gun."

Fitz's shoulders slumped. "Och, come on! That's th' best part!" He walked out, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath. "Simmons! Ah tauld ye he wooldnae loch th' nam!"

Grant smirked. "Recon first?"

Coulson nodded. "Go get Skye and tell her to get ready."

Skye hacked into the security cameras and found that Rappaccini was indeed at the base. That was great. The bad news was that the TAI wasn't there, as far as she could tell. Phil shook his head. "We'll take what we can get. May, Ward, let's get a move on. You three know the drill. Keep an eye in the cams."

"And watch your backs got it. Um, there's not much as far as baddies goes. Don't know what's up with that."

Grant folded his arms over his chest to think for a moment. Hearing that didn't sit well with him at all. "Could be a trap, sir."

"Possibly," Melinda agreed. "But this could be our best chance to catch Rappaccini, before she knows we're after her."

Just hearing her voice sent sparks up his spine, and other places. Grant exhaled and forced himself to focus.

"May's right," Phil concluded. "We'll just have to play it by ear."

As they walked out, Skye turned back to her computer. "Be careful in there, guys."

Grant took up point, with Melinda and Phil close behind him. Covered in the cloak of darkness that the nighttime sky provided, they were hard to see in the black combat gear, and Phil's black suit. It would've been more than easy to sneak past and take out any guards that were patrolling nearby. That was, if there were any actual guards patrolling nearby, or anywhere around the three story beige building that looked more like an office building than a terrorist base of operations.

Besides the three of them, and the others back on the Bus, there was no one outside. "I don't like this," Grant reiterated.

"Me neither. Getting that feeling that you're walking right into a trap?"

May sighed. "I wasn't until you said something." She glanced around, and the hurried through the forest of palm trees until she reached the building. Grant rushed beside her and pulled out the x-ray mat that Fitz used during their suicide mission.

"Doesn't look like anyone's around. Got an entry point?"

"Right here." He turned his head and saw Phil standing by a barely open garage door. Just inside were a several dozen humvees with large and powerful looking cannons on the their roofs. The tires looked like they were double reinforced. "Preparing for something."

"Hey!" They jerked their heads up to see a lone guard running to the alarm. Grant drew his laser pistol and shot him in the head; set on incapacitate, of course.

"Huh. Not bad." Phil led them quickly out of the garage and into the hall once it was determined that the coast was clear. "Yellow and black," Grant groaned in complaint of the walls' color scheme. "What are these guys, bumble bees?"

_=Reprog…ing the camer… so you guys … get pic… up,=_ Skye said through the comms. The reception had more than a little static. And then the comms cut off completely.

"Skye? Skye?! Damn it, comms are down."

Phil drew his handgun and took up the rear. The yellow and black walls were still empty, but there was the eerie feeling that something was about to happen accompanying it. Grant peeked his head around the corner and capped two AIM guards in the face. They slumped to the floor without knowing what happened. He hurried down the corridor, passing by what looked like the same scanner like thing from the base in Ireland. Melinda passed by it as well without a second thought, but before Phil could, five lasers shot out of one scanner and into the other, creating a barrier. "Damn. There it is. Wait, don't!" He held his hand up to stop May from touching it. "Could be dangerous. I'll find a way around and meet up with you guys."

"We'll meet you halfway," she said. "Be careful." They shared a quick glance before he nodded. Grant wasn't jealous.

"If you run into Rappaccini, don't hesitate to take her out. Quickly. She's too dangerous to prolong any confrontation."

May nodded and strode past Grant. He looked at her, and then at the quickly departing Coulson through the laser barrier. Nope, he wasn't jealous at all.

_**A/N: **__Can you guys understand what Fitz is saying? I'm trying to transcribe his accent as best I cam, but if you all are having a hard time determining what he's saying, then I'll switch to regular English with Scottish terms peppered in._


	7. Only Fools Fall in Love

_**A/N: **__We finally meet Monica Rappaccini this chapter. _

_**Only Fools Fall in Love**_

It hadn't even been five minutes before Melinda and Grant were met by almost a dozen AIM agents. "Shit, they know we're here!" They dove behind the nearest cover, a metal cart, just in time to avoid the initial barrage of gun fire. He waited until it died down and for the sound of reloading before he opened fire. His shots were in short bursts and highly accurate. Half of them were dropped in his initial salvo before he had to duck back down.

Melinda looked at his laser gun. "Where's mine?"

He smirked and rose up to shoot two more. "Sorry, you don't get one."

Her face sunk into what looked suspiciously like a pout. "I'll be talking to Fitz when we're done here."

His smirk rose. "God, you're so adorable." He shot upward to finish off the remaining agents, even deftly avoiding several gunshots to show off.

She glared.

He smiled.

She glared harder.

He cleared his throat. "Sorry."

They both stood up and surveyed the area. A dozen bodies laid in a heap in the middle of the hallway. Melinda hurried and grabbed a pair of rifles, and threw one of them to Grant. "This way." They ran down the remainder of the hall, and then rounded the corner. Quickly, they took out the three agents stalking toward them and kept moving. "I couldn't help but notice that you've been avoiding me since Ireland."

He couldn't help but grin. It had only been five hours since they left for Boca Caliente and she missed his company. "Miss me?" he asked smugly.

"Hardly. I was just wondering why you didn't come up to the cockpit to cause me trouble like you always do."

She totally missed him. "Sure you were. I just needed some time to myself." He debated telling her about his dream. Eh, why not? "It ended up turning into a pretty kickass dream."

Her eyebrow rose as she blasted two agents into the wall behind them. "Is that so? Was it about me?"

"Is the sky blue?"

Her eyes rolled, and so did the man in front of her when she roundhouse kicked him into unconsciousness. "Alright, I'll bite. What was I doing?"

"Moaning." He smirked when her eyes widened a bit. "Had Skye not woke me up, you would've been getting fucked. _Hard_."

Her face remained serious, despite having turned deep red. "Well… I'm glad I could give you such vivid…" She trailed off.

Grant frowned and looked from her to the end of the hall where her gaze laid. Monica Rappaccini was standing there, in front of a doorway, completely alone and unarmed. "Rappaccini! By the authority of SHIELD, you're under arrest!" Melinda yelled as she raised her gun. "Hands where I can see them."

Grant had his pistol raised and trained on her forehead. Monica sighed and raised her hands. "You peons don't know who you're dealing with," she said.

"We're not the ones standing around unarmed," he retorted.

Her grin sent chills up his spine, and not the good kind that Melinda sent. The bad kind; the kind that usually proceeded something terribly shitty happening. Suddenly, she tossed a metal ball toward them. Instinctively, they both opened fire. The bullets and lasers ricocheted off of an invisible force field that Monica had erected in front of herself. "What the shit?"

"Like I said, no idea. How would you like some methoxyfluran?"

The ball beneath them exploded, loosing a pressurized cloud of penthrane into their airways. They both breathed in a healthy amount and immediately felt dizzy. "Sle-sleeping ga-" They were both out cold before she could finish.

Monica smirked and lowered her hands slowly. A pair of agents walked out of the room behind her. "Collect them and strap them up. Time to have some fun."

* * *

_Grant's shaking hand reached over to stroke Melinda's bare back. She looked so divine in the post-sex bliss they both found themselves in. Lying on her stomach, she turned her head and flashed a rare smile. He could feel his heart overflowing with some emotion that he knew that neither of them had any business feeling. Still, he didn't care, and he hoped she didn't either. "I love you," he whispered._

_Her smile grew into a full grin, and she opened her mouth to reply. "I –_ Time to wake up, sleepy head."

Grant's eyes fluttered open. The blurry visage of a brunette woman was the first thing he could make out. "Melinda?" he uttered quietly.

"Ooh, sorry. Wrong answer." A hard slap to the face shocked him back into coherency. His vision cleared eventually. He was in some kind of medical room, if the operating table and tray full of medical equipment were any indication. The smell of alcohol and sterilization filled his nostrils. "But don't worry. You're little friend is right next to you."

He turned his head from the smirking Monica to the still unconscious Melinda. "May? If you touched one hair on her head…," he growled.

She rolled her eyes. "Please. As if you're in any position to do anything about it." To prove her point, she reached over and ran her fingers through her hair. He lunged at her and, sure enough, found himself bound to a steel chair with leather straps on his wrists and ankles, and a thick steel chain around his waist. "Now then, if you're finished with the macho posturing for your sleeping girlfriend, we have things to do."

"She is _not_ my girlfriend." He swallowed and suspired deeply. "Coulson will be here soon, so you're playtime is quickly coming to a end, lady. Give up now, and I might convince May to go easy on you." As he said this, her soft moans signaled her coming to. "Tick-tock, Rappaccini."

Monica snorted, and then snapped her fingers. Two guards that Grant couldn't see stepped forward and quickly undid Melinda's bonds, and then lifted her limp body out of the chair. They carried her to the operating table and strapped her down. "You think I'm afraid of the… what was it… ah yes, the Cavalry. You think I'm afraid of the Cavalry?"

He couldn't answer. Any retort he had been thinking of died as soon as they strapped her onto the table. His heart and mind were racing. "Wha- what are you doing?"

"Conducting a little experiment. You don't mind, do you?" She smiled sardonically and turned toward the table.

"…Grant?"

"Oh, and the girlfriend is awake! How exciting!" Monica took off her gold gauntlets and replaced them with a pair of latex gloves. The snap of the elastic on her wrist sent him into a panic.

"Wait, stop!"

"What the hell is this?" She was hiding it well, but he had been with her enough times to detect the rising panic in her voice.

"First, we need to get rid of her jacket and shirt, and then I can make a Y incision into her chest."

An autopsy? "She's alive! Why are you about to perform an autopsy on a living person?!"

"Who said anything about an autopsy, you fool. Although…" She reached up and brought over what looked like a large overhead lamp and hovered it over Melinda. It clicked on, and with a low hum, a deep red light washed over her. "That should do it. It'll keep her alive and stop any bleeding while she's being cut open."

At that, Melinda started struggling fiercely, albeit futilely. She jerked her arm so rough that it nearly dislocated her wrist.

"Her jacket and shirt," she repeated tersely. Grant watched helplessly as a herculean agent tore Melinda's jacket open, and then grabbed hold of the black spandex shirt she wore underneath.

"Get your fucking hands off of me!" Melinda squirmed and struggled in his grip, and then bit back a scream when her shirt was ripped off. Thank God she was wearing a bra.

Grant was frantic in his struggling. He was thinking of any and everything that he could do to stop this from happening. He watched her eyes widen when her bra was cut open. His blood started boiling and all he could see was red. Anger, not unlike the kind he felt when exposed to the Berzerker staff, filled his mind with violent thoughts of tearing every last one of those fuckers limb from limb.

Monica placed her hand on Melinda's chest to hold her still and steadied a glimmering scalpel near her right collarbone. "You won't bleed," she stated, green eyes shimmering with a crazed yearning for knowledge, "but this will hurt. A lot." Without warning, she pierced her skin. No blood appeared, as promised, but she was barely able to hold back a pained scream. "Hm, not a screamer, huh? Good." With expert care, she guided the scalpel diagonally down her chest.

She was halfway to her right breast when, "**STOP!**" Monica halted her incision, to Melinda's delight, and turned her head to the left to glance at Grant. He was breathing heavily and shaking with barely contained rage. "Take me instead," he offered in an eerily calm voice.

Monica removed the scalpel from her chest completely and turned completely around. "Why?"

He opened his mouth to lie, but was too angry and scared to think of one that she would believe. So, he went with the truth. "I… I can't let you hurt her. Hurt me instead."

"Grant." His eyes cut from Monica to Melinda who was frantically shaking her head. He saw the near six inch long incision and grimace. "Don't."

He mustered up the gall to smirk. "Sorry, mind's already made up. So, what do you say, Rappaccini? You'll even get to see me with my shirt off."

Monica rubbed her chin in thought. It was the longest moment in Grant's life. "Fine," she said with a shrug.

"No! Grant, you can't!"

His eyes never left her. She hid it well, but he could see it all. Anger. Pain. Fear. The last because of him. She was scared for him. They held each other's gaze from what seemed like an eternity. He tried to convey to her that he had a plan. Monica's scalpel hand was right next to her table, grip loose and within reaching distance. As soon as one of her hands were free, she could grab it and stab Rappaccini. Fatally or not, it didn't matter. From there, she could do her thing, be the Cavalry and teach these fucks not to fuck with SHIELD.

He smirked and conveyed that she shouldn't worry, that everything was going to turn out oka- They stabbed a syringe into her neck, and he watched her pupils dilate. Her face relaxed and her head swayed, as if she was struggling to keep it up. "You… idiot…" Her head thumped against the hard metal table.

Shit. That wasn't supposed to fucking happen. He flinched when he felt a needle being pushed into his neck. Her vision instantly blurred. He felt hot, and tired. He wanted to go to sleep for a week, but he had to save Melinda. He had to escape. Darkness was rapidly swallowing his vision, until Monica's torso was a small green dot in the middle of the night. "…fuck…" His head slumped forward as he succumbed to the blackness.


	8. Broken Out of Love

_**A/N:**__ The title is inspired by a song of the same name by Mark grabbed and the Rels. Graphic details ahead, BTW._

_**Broken Out of Love**_

Agent May's unconscious body was placed in and strapped to the steel chair she had previously been bound to. Agent Ward was moved to the table and strapped secure, his shirt removed. Monica took a few moments to shamelessly admire his chisled chest and six pack. They could say whatever they wanted to about SHIELD, but their agents were attractive.

She checked her phone. Playing on the screen was the footage from the camera overlooking Coulson. He was still trapped by their barricade, the idiot, but he had his two little pets, Fitz and Simmons with him. Together, their admittedly impressive minds would eventually figure out a way around it, meaning that she didn't have much time.

She waited until her assistant placed the oxygen mask over Ward before she started making her incision. She made one diagonal incision from his shoulder to the bottom of his ribcage, and then another opposite that, meeting the first one and then curving down to the pelvic bone. She separated the flaps and then took the time to dissect the muscle tissue over the ribcage so she could finishing separating her incisions.

The lack of blood was a real help. The red light lamp overhead clotted the bloodflow in the chest, preventing him, and May from before, from bleeding when she starting cutting them open. She could have sold the invention to the medical industry. Millions of dollars could have been saved if doctors didn't have to worry about their patients bleeding to death. Additionally, countless lives could have been saved with this sure fire method of stopping internal bleeding.

Of course, Monica didn't care about any of that. If it didn't advance her and AIM's goals of world domination, then it wasn't even considered. She could have made millions, but millions of dollars was chump compared to the trillions that she would make as supreme ruler of the world.

She smiled to herself and fully opened Ward's chest to expose his ribcage. With a pair of deft slices, she severed the tissue connecting it to the body and removed it. Her assistant took it and placed it inside a sterilized tray. No need for him to die of an infection before he could deliver her message. "Now then, if you would," she said, holding out her hand. Her assistant placed in it a small device, a bomb that was much more than met the eye. It wasn't powerful, but they would surprised by its brutality.

She smirked and handled it with the utmost care while lowering it down into his chest cavity and attaching it to the bottom of his heart. Yes, it was very visible to the naked eye, and very easy to remove provided that one moved quickly enough. But, if the SHIELD stooges managed to disarm is, they'd be in for a real surprise. "Done. Now to –"

_=Dr, Rappaccini; Agent Coulson is quickly inbound.=_

"Son of a bitch." She sighed and took the latex gloves off and replaced her gold gauntlets. "You," she pointed to a random agent, "stitch him up. The rest of you follow me. We're leaving." The female doctor nodded shakily and watched Monica and the other five agents file out of a door in the back of the room.

She, named Dr. Amanda Flint, grabbed a syringe filled with a thick white gel and applied to both ends of Ward's ribcage like one would apply glue to a piece of wood. She then applied some to the severed tissue and pressed the ribcage down on it.

The solvent inside the syringe sent the body's own natural healing factor into overdrive by multiple factors for a short period of time. While it was mainly useful during fire fights and battles, it also made recovering from injuries or surgery no trouble at all. It also made hiding an impromptu torture/surgery from eagle eyed SHIELD agents easy.

Hands shaking uncontrollably out of fear of what would happen when Coulson showed up, she pressed down on the cage gently. "Okay, that's done. N-now for the…" She carefully pressed the flaps that comprised Ward's chest back down, taking care to apply some of the solvent to each end. She was about to smooth it out to make sure it healed properly when the door burst open.

An unspeakably calm Agent Coulson hurried inside. Anyone else would have been beyond engaged at what they saw, but his calmness was terrifying. Flint was caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar, a syringe in her hand and a cut up Ward on her table. Something under his blue eyes shifted from already terrifyingly calm to petrifying calm. "Move. Now."

Flint dropped the syringe and back away. "P-please, don't shoot. I was just –" Fitz shot her with the Nite-nite gun while Simmons ran to pick up the syringe and to check out Grant's wounds.

With him being tended to, Coulson immediately turned his attention to Melinda. She was essentially topless and bleeding profusely from a deep cut on her shoulder. "Melinda," he said softly while gently lifting her slumped head. She didn't respond. He checked for a pulse and sighed when he felt on, albeit weak. "She's out. Help me undo her." Skye took off her jacket to cover her chest, and then bent down to undo the straps keeping her legs in place. Coulson undid her arms and gently lifted her out of the chair and into his arms.

"My word," she mumbled.

"How bad is it?"

"Um, well, they basically performed an autopsy on him, judging by these incisions. But they're almost completely healed. I can literally see his muscle and skin healing in real time! Fascinat-!" Coulson shot her a glare. "Sorry."

"Then that's good. When he's done healing, help him get out. We're done here." He started for the door. Without turning around, he added, "Bring her, too. I want to speak with her."

Simmons nodded and bent down to pick up the syringe that the AIM doctor dropped. "I wonder what you are?"

Skye grunted and hefted the doctor onto her shoulders. Those upper body exercises Grant insisted on her doing were paying off. "Take it and find out. See if you can make more."

"I don't know how I feel about shamelessly knocking off _more_ of AIM's stuff." She sighed and grabbed one of Grant's arms, while Fitz grabbed the other. "Let's go, you fit bugger."

Fitz sighed.

* * *

It took them a while, but FitzSimmons managed to haul Grant's heavy mass to the Bus. They gently placed him on the table in the lab. Coulson ordered them to give him a full check over just in case Rappaccini did something foul while her was out and before they got there. He also ordered on for Melinda too, just in case.

Melinda was clean, just a case of having to stitch her cut up. When they finished, Coulson went ahead and took her to her bunk.

When he left, Jemma began to check Grant over. "No other injuries or lesions… pupils are slightly dilated… blood pressure is a little off… heart rate is erratic… breathing is labored. Should we give him an x-ray?"

"Don' see why not." Fitz flipped on a switch to activate the holographic x-ray function on the table. He swept his hand upward and looked closely at the image that appeared. "Hm, no fractures… no blood clots… let's see, um… wait…"

"Fitz, what is that?" Jemma asked warily.

Fitz removed the unnecessary things obstructing his view and zoomed in on Grant's heart. "Is that what I think it is?"

"That's a bomb," Jemma replied, frantically. "There's a bomb in his chest." Fitz grabbed it and zoomed in on the timer. "And we only have five minutes to disarm it!"

"Okay, it's okay, Simmons. Call Coulson and I'll get ready."

While Leo scurried from station to station to prepare his equipment, Jemma fumbled to pull her phone out of her pocket. "Hello, sir? We have a bit of a situation down here… Well, there's a bomb in Ward's chest. They put a bomb in his chest.… I said, they put a bomb in his chest, sir!… Oh, sorry.… Yes, Fitz and I will have it out in a snap, seal him up and then Bob's your uncle!… Right sir, sorry." She hung up and beheld Fitz running toward her with a tray full of medial supplies.

He handed her a pair of latex gloves, and then as scalpel. "Let's get to it, shall we?"

"Ooh." She slipped the gloves onto her shaking hands. "Just like Operation, right?"

"Exactly."

_**A/N: **__I decided to go ahead and simplify Fitz's accent, if only because it's easier on me to right without having to use a translator. _


	9. Aiming For Misdirection

_**Aiming for Misdirection **_

When Coulson reached the Bus, he immediately headed for the medical facility in the lab. He didn't know what those bastards had done, but he didn't want to run the risk of assuming Melinda was fine and then having spring up on them at an unexpected moment.

Skye was next aboard. He ordered that she take the doctor to the interrogation room, and then prepare the plane for liftoff. She looked at him like he was crazy, but he said that they had no choice since both of their certified pilots were out. Besides, she had been getting informal lessons from May, so she was going to have to do.

Skye left in a hurry, leaving Coulson alone with his long time friend. He looked down at her unmoving form. She was usually so wound and ready to strike, so to see her in this vulnerable state was… strange. Yes, strange. That time was long over, when he might have thought other things. He carded her hair with gentle fingers, as he had done in years past. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there," he admitted softly.

She didn't make a sound, much to his disappointment. It was too much to expect.

"Guh! Why is Ward so bloody heavy?!" Coulson didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Fitzsimmons, give Ward and May a check over, just in case Rappaccini did something," he said.

"Yes sir." Soft footsteps from Simmons grew louder as she approached, but he didn't take his eyes off of Melinda until she lightly touched his back.

"Sorry," he apologized as he moved aside. As Simmons did her duty to an expert degree, he allowed his gaze to fall upon Ward. He, for the briefest of moments, wanted to be angry with the agent. For not being able to protect Melinda, for allowing her to be hurt. He stopped the urge before it even had a chance to take root. He was hurt too, possibly even worse than Melinda. No, not possibly, but definitely. He knew that it wasn't right to blame Ward for any of this, so he didn't. They were his agents, on his team, so if anyone was to blame, it was him.

"She's all good, sir. She's just sleeping. Looks like Fluothane," Simmons said cheerfully. Or as cheerfully as she could bear to, given the circumstances. Coulson turned and raised an eyebrow when he saw that the deep cut on her chest was gone. "This healing gel is simply brilliant," she answered his unspoken question. "I'm going to find out what it is right now."

"After you check Ward," he said, as a parent would a too excited child.

"Right, right."

He sighed and lifted her light body into his arms. "I'm taking her up to her bunk so she can have somewhere comfortable to rest. Let me know how he checks out, then I'll do he same for him." With that, he left.

Carrying Melinda through the threshold into her bunk hurt. It reminded him of better times, when they were closer. They could have married. They should have. They were going to, on a summer day in Tahiti, of all places. They were happy and in love. Destiny seemed to have them paired for life. Then Bahrain happened. Coulson saw her at her absolute worst; bloody, shaken and scared. Not of the gifted terrorist himself, but of herself and what she as the Cavalry had become. The hostages were saved, but Melinda May as he knew her was dead.

All that was left was the woman lying before him. They fell out of love and moved on, neither bitter nor angry with the other. Their friendship remained as strong as it ever had been, evidenced by her leaving the dungeon at the Triskelion and joining his team, despite swearing of field missions forever.

She was just sleeping, not dead or dying. She was going to wake up soon, the same as Ward, hopefully. He reached over and teased through her hair again. It was soft, and slightly wet from sweat. His phone rang. He let out an annoyed sigh, but answered quickly when he saw that it was Simmons. "Hello?" She sounded frantic, and panicked. "What is it?" His eyes widened, and he took a moment to fully grasp what he had just heard. "What?!… I heard you the first time, Simmons. That 'what' was an exclamation." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. In the background, he could hear Fitz gathering supplies. "Disarm it and get it out of him, pronto.… Simmons."

He snapped his phone shut and returned it to his coat pocket. "Damn it." He was right to stop himself from being angry with Ward. Turned out that he saved Melinda from the worse fate. He only hoped that he lived to receive commendation. A soft moan from the bed snapped him to attention. Melinda was coming to.

* * *

Simmons held the scalpel in one hand and pressed down on Ward's chest with the other. "Time, Fitz."

"Three minutes, twenty-one seconds and counting," he answered. He placed an face mask over his nose and mouth and turned out the anaesthesia.

"Shite!" She quickly made one neat incision from his shoulder to his ribcage, and then another opposite that and then curving down to his pelvis. Blood bubbled from the wounds and poured down his sides. Luckily, Fitz was there to clean it up, or else it would have been messy. She quickly dissected the soft muscle tissue under his skin and then opened the flap covering his heart. "Okay."

Fitz grabbed a saw from the tray. "Okay… there, I see it. Right under left true rib five, six centimeters to our right of the sternum." With that in mind, Fitz sawed the appropriately sized piece of Ward's rib off to allow himself enough room to work. He placed it inside the tray. He next grabbed a pair of wire cutters. "I see one wire, so let's hope that's it." He quickly stole a glance at the holographic timer. Just one minute left. Sweat accumulated on his forehead and threatened to run down into his eyes. He took a second to wipe it away with his sleeve. "Here goes," he snipped the wire and the timer froze, "everything. Ha!"

"We did it!" Simmons cheered.

"We did it. Now, I'll get the bomb out so you can seal him up." He replaced the wire cutters and grabbed a pair of pliers. Quickly, but gently, he grabbed hold of the small explosive and gave it a tug. There was a soft click. "What was tha-" He stopped when the heart monitor started blaring, while Ward's body seized up. "What the hell?!"

His heart rate was suddenly erratic. They could see his heart beating too rapidly, convulsing and shaking with each beat. Then, cardiac arrest. The flatline was deafening. Simmons was close to tears. "NO! Don't you dare, Grant!" She pulled out a defibrillator and tried to attach the nodes to his chest, but her hands were shaking too violently.

Fitz took it and hurried to close the flaps of his chest and then attached everything while starting it up. "Clear!" Ward's chest rose up suddenly as electricity jolted through it, and then back down. Nothing.

When he closed it, Simmons saw a silver speck leaking out of the bottom right ventricle. "Mercury!" she shouted as she hurried to her kit to retrieve the antitoxin she made just in case.

"Clear!" Another shock, but still nothing. "Come on, dammit! Clear!" On the third attempt, his heart started back up, but the pulse was weak, almost nonexistent.

"Move, Fitz!" Simmons, syringe in hand, pulled back on of the flaps and stabbed the needle directly into the heart. The mercury antitoxin was injected into the mercurial organ. It was the most tense moments of their lives, waiting for it to calm down, and when it did, they both sighed with relief. "Oh, thank God!"

Fitz was about to say something when he was interrupted. "Is he… is he okay?" Skye asked from the door. She, Coulson and May must have heard the blare and rushed to see what was happening. They all looked from unnerved to outright scared. Even the usually stoic May was shaken. Shaken, and shaking. Visibly.

"He'll be fine," Simmons reassured in a shaky voice. "Just had a wee little scare for a minute. You know how rather dramatic Ward can be." She tried to laugh to off, but it came out half-hearted.

May quickly walked off, toward the cockpit. No one followed her. Simmons watched her with a deep frown. "Simmons, let's get him cleaned up." Simmons kept her eyes on May until she heard the cockpit slam closed.

Phil sighed deeply. He had very nearly lost one of SHIELD's best agents, and Melinda seemed to be taking it harder than everyone else. Anger? Maybe. Guilt? Definitely. He walked slowly to the cockpit. He knew that, eventually, he'd have to talk to her about it. She was going to listen to him, he didn't doubt that; whether she'd admit what was upsetting her, Ward being hurt or almost dying or everything, was an entirely different matter. For someone so wise, she could be absurdly stubborn.


	10. Denial

_**A/N: **__From here on, the story will be told from May's POV. _

_**Denial **_

_Melinda sighed happily and rested her head on Grant's chest. Pale moonlight was leaking in through the half open curtains, bathing part of the room in its magnificence. She could feel his large hand rubbing her back softly. Warm feelings of emotions she hadn't felt or bothered to feel in years began to pool in her chest. Her heart was swelling with things that she had no business feeling._

_"I love you."_

_It was said so matter-of-factly. It was all she needed to jump off the deep end, hand in hand with Grant. She may have paid for it later, but she would never regret it. "I love you, too."_

Her eyes fluttered open. Vision blurry, she say the outline of a man standing over her. "…Grant?"

"Sorry, not quite. But I won't take offense." Damn, it was only Phil. Meaning that something happened to Grant. She swore, if that idiot got himself killed just to save her…

"Where…?" She sat up and shook her head to clear her vision. She looked around once it was clear enough and immediately recognized the tiny box that was her bunk. Meaning that, since the plane was flying, that someone else was flying the Bus. It had to have been Grant, since he was the only other certified pilot.

"Melinda, what happened in there?"

She ignored the question and went to grab another shirt. "I'm fine," she said, purely as an effort to placate his curiosity. She took off the ripped and cut up garments and replaced them with the proper replacements. Zipping up her new vest, she turned to him while backing toward the door. "Going to go chew out that idiot."

Normally, Phil would have smirked, or even chuckled. This time, he hesitated, as if he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure how.

"What? He's okay, right?" He still didn't, couldn't say anything. Dread started to settle into chest, although she hid it. "Answer me," she demanded quietly.

"He… FitzSimmons will take care of him."

Take care of him? For her sake, that better have meant that he had a few cuts and bruises, maybe a broken bone here or there. "I still want to see him." Phil regarded her quietly. Her back turned to him, but he could still feel his gaze on her. Not out of want, as that time was over, but out of concern. Perhaps because he wasn't telling her something.

"Whatever happens," he said, "Ward did the right thing."

She didn't want to hear that. "What aren't you –" Some loud noise thundered from the lab. Out out instinct, Melinda and Phil dashed out of the bunk and down the hall. The closer she got, the louder the noise and the yelling over the noise got. She could hear Phil muttering curses, not even bothering to hide them under his breath.

The first thing she saw when they reached the lab was the blood. So much blood. A small, and growing, crimson pool as collected on the floor and dripping off the table. The next was the pair of pants covering the legs on the table. She couldn't see the face, since Fitz's body was blocking it, but she recognized the pants as Grant's. He was on that table, bleeding profusely.

The heart monitor was the source of the noise. She was glad for it. As long as it kept it up, Grant was alive. He was going to pull through, and then she was going to yell at him for scaring her and then kiss him for being alive.

When his heart stopped, so did hers. When the heart monitor flatlined, everything froze.

Someone was screaming. "NO! Don't you dare, Grant!"

Was he dead? He couldn't have been. This was the guy who willingly jumped out of moving planes to save his friends, and lived. He couldn't die.

"Clear!"

He couldn't die, not when she… couldn't do anything about it.

"Mercury!"

He wouldn't die, because she wouldn't allow it. She wouldn't allow someone to die because he tried to save her. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Why did someone _she_ loved have to die? She wanted to move forward. Tried to move inside the lab, but her own knees were shaking to hard for her to go two steps without falling. So she stayed still, stock still and listened to the single monotone beep resonate through the entire Bus. Her heart was tearing itself to pieces.

"Clear!" Tears threatened to fall as it seemed that there was no hope. He was gone, and it was all her fault. He gave his life trying to save hers. She knew exactly why he did it, because he said so in not so many words. They swore this wouldn't happen. It wasn't suppose to happen. "Come on, dammit! Clear!" A beep. A pulse, a weak one, but it was there. He was alive. There was a chance he would be okay.

"Move Fitz!" Melinda lifted up her head and saw Simmons stab something into his chest. She wanted to scream out and stop her, but she knew that Simmons knew what she was doing. Seconds, unbearably tense seconds ticked away one by one in expectation of something. Simmons looked rigid, Fitz didn't breathe and Skye was whimpering like a scared little girl next to her. She couldn't blame the kid; they had gotten so close, like siblings.

"Oh thank God," Simmons breathed as the blaring subsided, replaced with a steady, and loud, heart rate from the monitor. Her own heart started to slow as well, but her damned body wouldn't stop shaking. She must have looked so scared, uncharacteristically so.

"Is he," Skye said softly, "is he okay?" She was terrified. Terrified that Grant had been lost. She still wasn't even half as scared as Melinda was.

"He'll be fine," Simmons reassured in a shaky voice. "Just had a wee little scare for a minute. You know how rather dramatic Ward can be." She tried to laugh to off, but it came out half-hearted.

Whether it was the innocent comment Simmons made to reassure everyone or everything else, Melinda had to walk away. If the others knew what was good for them, they wouldn't follow her.

She reached the cockpit and slammed the door closed behind her. Slowly, she sunk down into her seat and let out the shaky breath that she had been holding in since first hearing the flatline. The plane was on autopilot. Good. She was in no condition to fly with any sort of competency, not when her hands were shaking to the point that she could barely hold anything without dropping it.

_Calm down, damn it. You're Melinda fucking May. Calm down!_

She closed her eyes, allowing a few tears to fall before angrily wiping them away. Melinda May didn't cry. Not over herself, and not over someone she just shared a bed with. That's all Grant Ward was, just someone to share a bed with sometimes. That was it. That was all. Anyone who thought otherwise was in for a rude awakening. Grant included.

She was not going to allow herself to lose even an ounce of her composure over him. Not happening.

Phil walked in minutes later. He apparently didn't known what was good for him. "What do you want?" she asked tersely, allowing her annoyance at his unwanted intrusion to go heard.

"I know you're upset, but I thought you could –"

"I am not upset," she corrected.

"– use some company." He sat down in the co-pilot's chair, the chair where Grant always sat. She glared at him for daring to sit there. He ignored it. "They just moved Grant to his bunk. There's a machine monitoring his heart rate and brain activity, all that jazz. If you want to sit with him for a bit, you can, but you won't have much room." To her credit, she didn't jump out of her seat and run to his room. Because people didn't do that for people they were just sleeping with.

"I see," she instead said, calmly.

"When you're ready to tell me what happened, I'm here."

"Nothing happened to me," she said after a few minutes of silence, "other than her gassing me and Ward. When I woke up fully, I was strapped to a table, and she was cutting my clothes off. She started cutting me open, and Gra- Ward put a stop to it and asked… demanded that we switch places. I was injected with something that knocked me out again, and then woke up here." She chose to omit the admittedly not at all humorous caveat that Rappaccini would get to see him without his shirt on. It wasn't because she was jealous that some other broad was going to see his delicious chest and abs.

_"Like what you see, Melinda?" he slurred slightly as he slid his shirt off. She licked her lips and nodded hungrily._

"I see. And by 'her', you mean Rappaccini?" Melinda nodded, and hid the swell of hate that rose in her chest.

"She escaped before we got there, but we have one of her agents in custody. I'm getting ready to interrogate her, if you want to watch."

Her jaw tightened and she nodded once, sharply. "I'll be there." Anything to find that bitch.


	11. Interrogation

_**Interrogation **_

It took a while, but Melinda was finally able to take hold of the steering column. Her grip was tight, tense and still somewhat shaky. Phil had told her to set course for the Hub. They had state of the art medical facilities there for Ward, and they needed to coordinate with Agent Hand to pin down Rappaccini.

_Rappaccini._

Just thinking about that name set her chest on fire. Her jaw set and her already tight grip on the steering column suddenly exceeded impossible. The plane shifted slightly, coaxing her out of her mini rage. _Calm down._ Her eyes closed and immediately shut out the images of Ward's chest lying open, and then being closed. The monotone beep of the heart monitor rung in her ears. No matter how many times she tried to get it out, to make it go away, it persisted. No matter how many times Simmons' voice bubbled through her mind reassuring her that he was okay, all she could remember was that he died.

For seventeen and a half seconds, he was dead.

Her lip quivered involuntarily. It slipped into her mouth and was bitten down on as punishment for its weakness. Ward was just a fuck-buddy. That was all. There was no love, no emotion between them other than the temporary lust and passion they felt when they were about to and were having sex.

_Her blunt nails dug into his back as her head drew back in ecstasy. "Oh Grant!" she moaned into his ear, making him…_

Her eyes shot open. It was lust she was feeling. It was times like this that they would be fucking in a hotel room, or worst, in the back of the SUV to knock the edge off. He wasn't here to partake in that, so she was just missing a habit, that was all.

She angrily flipped on the autopilot. "God," she grunted as she threw off her seatbelt and left the cockpit. Coulson should have been interrogating at AIM doctor by now, and she said that she was going to be there, so down the hall she walked, fists clinched and steps tight and measured. She tried hard not to look into the lab, but in her peripheral, she saw Fitz leaning over the table. She glanced.

_The blood. So much blood. Grant's lifeless body bleeding on the table. "NO! Don't you dare, Grant!" "Come on, dammit! Clear!"_

She held his pitiful gaze until he looked away. Whether it was shame or sorrow, she didn't know, nor did she care. Either way, Simmons was probably somewhere nearby to comfort him.

She passed by Skye's room next. Her door was open, and she saw her on her bed, knees drawn up to her chin. Poor girl.

Her pace quickened to an almost jog as she passed Ward's room. There was no chance that she was going to give her mind a chance to even contemplate stopping in there to see him. Seeing him hooked up to those machines, like some coma patient, was too much to bear. He was just a bed partner. Nothing more, nothing less. She didn't have feelings for him, nor did she need to feel his touch on her skin. She didn't need to feel his hands in her body, his warmth against her coldness. She didn't need it, nor did her body yearn for it out of want. Any urge to stop and walk into his bunk were shut down, and she quickly walked down the stairs and continued for the interrogation room.

The window revealed Phil in the room, along with a young blonde woman. Bouncy blonde hair, baby blue eyes as wide as a frightened doe, youthful face that was etched with nervous dread. She was either a damn good actress or was going to sing like a canary.

She settled in front of the viewing window and crossed her arms over her chest. "So," Phil said, "let's get to the good stuff. Like where is Dr. Rappaccini?"

"I can't tell you that," she said in reply. Even though her conviction was solid, it rung hollow.

"Is that so? Well, I know that you'll tell me anyway. Want to know how I know?" She paused, and then nodded. "Because there's a very pissed off agent on this plane, that's likely right outside that door. Your boss hurt her friend, badly, and she's looking for a punching bag to work out her aggression on. Now, Rappaccini deserves it the most, but since she's not here, you'll have to do."

Her baby blue eyes widened into saucers. "You- you're bluffing!"

"Am I?" he countered coolly. "Agent May, come on in."

A pair of pliers were lying on the floor by the door, undoubtedly planted there for this very moment. She bent down to pick them up, and then let her mask of rigid stoicism slip away to reveal a very very angry Melinda May, and flung the door open. One look at her expression sent the woman into a panic. She tried to back away when she laid eyes on the pliers.

"Me or her. Your choice."

"Okay! Okay, I'll talk. I don't know where she went."

Phil gave her a incredulous look, while Melinda placed her mask back on. The pliers fell from her grip and landed on the floor with a clack. "I suggest you don't make me pick those back up. If I do, I'm using them."

Phil's eyebrows rose in expectation. Dr. Flint's eyes shifted from him, to Melinda, to the pliers, and then in reverse. "I really don't know. We have so many bases and she could have gone to any one of them. She didn't tell me where she was going."

"Do you know off hand where these bases are?" he asked.

She nodded. "On my phone, I have them marked on a map for easy access."

"Good, we'll take care of that later. Now, the transitional atmospheric inundator, what does she want it for?"

She hesitated, chewing on her cherry red bottom lip in contemplation. Melinda looked down, and then at her as she began to bend down. "To make a name for AIM!" she blurted. Melinda straightened out and motioned for her to continue. "We see Hydra getting all the fear and respect, and we want that. So that's why Dr, Rappaccini took the inundator from MODOK, so we could make a name for ourselves."

"How?"

"She's planning on poisoning a city's water supply with a deadly toxin, then using the inundator to evaporate the water and spread it over the city. Thousands would die, and we'd be on the map."

"AIM is already on SHIELD's map after the Extremis outbreak," Phil pointed out.

"You're right. But we want much more than SHIELD's attention. We want the world's. And we want the world. Dr. Rappaccini already has a plan in play that will bring it to its knees, before us."

Phil sat back and waited for her to continue.

A manic smile spread over the doctor's lips. "A supervirus, one that replicates at a thousand times what a normal one does when exposed to water. The inundator will fill the air with it and millions will die. They'll all realize that we're too much of a force to be reckoned with and give us the world." She laughed.

"You're being very forthcoming with this information," he noted.

She shrugged. "I'm just a lowly cog in the machine, Agent. The plan is already too far in motion for it to matter now, anyway."

Phil sighed and stood from his chair. "Thank you. I'll see that you get a reduced sentence." With that, he started for the door. Melinda didn't budge until he left. The only sounds made were the door closing softly, her feet moving toward the door and the soft click of it locking.

"What did you do to Agent Ward?"

Her mania vanished, and was replaced by the same wide-eyed doe in headlights expression. "I- I…"

"Answer me." She bent down and picked up the pliers. They were cold in her hands, and felt heavy with the violent intentions that she was struggling to keep in check. "What did you do to Agent Ward?"

"I- I just sealed his wounds. Dr. Rappaccini was the one who cut him open and put the device in his chest."

"What device? And why?"

"It was an automated syringe filled with mercury. More potent that it is naturally. She wanted to see how long it would be before the heart stopped after being directly exposed to mercury." She smiled softly. "Did he die?"

It took all Melinda had not to snap her neck. She kept her face calm and relaxed, but internally, her anger was like an inferno threatening to burn out of control. She breathed in deeply, and then out. "Yes. But they revived him in time." Her answer was clipped and to the point. Any more and her voice might have cracked, which would have shot all of her credibility.

"A shame. Dr. Rappaccini will be so disappointed." Her voice had a slight taunting ring to it, as if she knew that this was affecting her more than she was letting on.

Just one finger. "I'll be certain that your plea deal is revoked," she answered simply. "The women's ward at the Raft will treat a cute little thing like yourself very nicely." An unkind smile flashed across her lips before she walked out. "I'm serious," she said to Phil. Whether he liked it or not didn't matter. It was better than the alternative, which consisted of the pliers, her eyelid and a lot of screaming.


	12. Dangerous Thoughts

_**A/N: **__A special guest star!_

_**Dangerous Thoughts**_

The Bus was docked at the Hub hours later, and Ward was moved from his bunk to a medical facility inside. Melinda did her best to avoid thinking about him or going over to see him, but failed absolutely. It wouldn't have been right if she avoided him when he saved her life. With a sigh, she approached his room and placed her hand on the doorknob. She stood in front of the door, hand on the handle, contemplating just what she would see.

Would he be hooked up to a dozen machines? Was he in a coma? Was he already awake and waiting for her? These questions swirled in her head for the almost full minute that she was standing in front of the door. _Why are you afraid to go inside a room?_

"You do know that you have to turn the knob to get the door to open, right?" The dry, sarcastic remark from behind her made her eyes roll on instinct. She turned her head to be greeted by a pair of purple sunglasses and a smirk. "Agent May."

"Don't you have anything better to do, Barton?"

"Nope. Not for the next few days, anyway." He gestured for her to open the door. She still hesitated, despite her annoyance. "Need any help?"

Her jaw set slightly, and the door flung open. Simmons, who was bent over the only bed in the room, jumped up and gasped softly. "Oh! Hello, May. Oh, hi, Agent Barton! Fancy seeing you here."

Seeing Simmons leaning over what she assumed to be Ward's bed brought a wave of jealousy over her that she wasn't necessarily proud of. Be she didn't necessarily make it go away right way. "What were you just doing?" she asked, sternly. More so than she wanted to.

Simmons stammered while Clint raised his eyebrows. "I-I-I was just making sure the sensors were attached correctly."

Melinda narrowed her eyes at the nervous biochemist for a very long moment before nodding. "Sorry."

She nodded and smiled softly. "He'll be fine, May. His brain activity is normal according to preliminary tests we ran on the way here. They just want to keep observing him overnight to make sure." She wasn't the best at reading people, but Melinda's expression was rather obvious. She touched Ward's hand to make sure his pulse and the heart monitor were synched up. "You can still sit with him, if you like." Melinda didn't look too happy at seeing Simmons' hand touching Ward's. "They'll only allow one at a time, so… you can just sit… in this chair right here and sit with him… if you… if you like." She hurried out of her line of sight and went to stand next to Clint.

"Thank you," she called over her shoulder, "for saving him."

She couldn't see, but she knew Jemma had a wide smile. "Of course. That's what friends are for." Clint and Jemma shuffled out. "So, what brings you here?"

The door closed before she heard Barton's response. Not that she really cared. He was probably sent by Fury to replace Grant while he was on the shelf. That was fine; Barton was plenty capable and knew people in high places if they needed any more help.

She looked at Grant. He was breathing on his own, and his heartbeat was strong. That was good. He hair was mussed in sort of a cute way, she supposed. It was strange, seeing him like this. For all the times she had seen him asleep after their nighttime activities, she never thought it would be here, after this.

She sighed and took a seat in the chair by the bed. "Figured you'd end up here eventually," she said with a soft smirk. With his recklessly throwing himself into fist fights with superpowered people like the Centipede goons, she was surprised that he wasn't in the hospital more often. "Listen… well, I don't know if you can hear me or not, but thank you. For saving me. It was probably for the best. If I was where you are, you'd be going off the deep end by know." She touched his hand, which turned into her wrapping it within hers. She interlaced their fingers.

"I'm pretty sure that you're dreaming about us enjoying… better times. I'll be waiting for you when you wake up so we can make them come –" She stopped herself.

She didn't have feelings for Grant Ward. Her sitting with him was a chance afforded to her to make her gratitude known to him, even if he couldn't hear her. Her holding his hand was further proof of that gratitude. Their interlaced fingers was to ensure that his pulse was at optimum. Machines could malfunction, nothing was perfect. Besides, nothing replaced checking a person's pulse by hand. If he died while a malfunctioning machine said that he was still alive, she would be devasta– disappointed.

Her offer to make his undoubtedly illicit, or even otherwise, dreams about her come true were purely and simply in line with their agreement. That being that they would get drunk and have sex after a hard mission where they were both feeling bad afterward. That was it. That was all. No more, no less.

She was still holding his hand after ten minutes. Because she was making a conscious effort to check his pulse every few minutes and figured she might as well keep his hand warm while she was doing it. It was cold in the room. Did he have enough blankets? She made a note to ask the nurse for more.

With her free hand, she gently smoothed his hair down. With as vain as Grant was, he would hate it if he was looking any less than devilishly handsome. As he described himself one time during his sweet… lame attempts at flirting. The smug bastard.

She smiled, yes, smile not smirk, and allowed her finger to trailed down his sculpted jawline. To check for any cuts or abrasions that the doctors and Simmons may have missed. They were all professionals, but they were still imperfect. They missed things with their imperfect eyes. Melinda was by no means any less imperfect than they were, but an extra set of sharp eyes and a gentle finger couldn't have hurt.

"Thanks for looking out for me."

Her eyes leveled down on his lips as her finger ran across it softly. Nope, no cuts or… or abrasions there. He did have some nice lips. She would know, since she remembered kissing them all of those times.

_"Come on, just one kiss. I won't tell anyone."_

Even in their drunken stupor, he was still gentle. She could practically feel his hands on her; one on the small of her back and the other gently cupping her cheek. He always kissed her softly at first, as if giving her a chance to back out in case of cold feet. Her feet never got cold, and he always roughened it up when he crashed their lips together. Gnawing, biting, hands exploring her body. And his tongue. He was so skilled with his tongue. God, did he know how to make her toes curl with that tongue. _Careful, Melinda. You're thinking some very dangerous thoughts._

It was enough to snap her out of her trance. She took a deep breath. She didn't have feelings for Grant Ward. Her recent swarm of thoughts were out of her body's want for him. Within the bounds of their agreement. Nothing more, nothing less.


	13. Debt

_**Debt**_

_Strawberry scented candles lined a path from the living room to the bedroom. Romantic music was playing softly in the background. Melinda quirked a curious eyebrow. "Grant?"_

_"Right here." Melinda turned to where the voice sounded and gasped softly. Grant was standing by the kitchen, dressed in a sharp black shirt and gray slacks. He looked like the epitome of handsome, much to her approval. _

_Her mouth opened to compliment him, but all that came out were soft, incoherent sounds that sounded like stuttering. _

_He smirked and approached her. "Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?"_

_She specifically stated that she did not like being called 'sweetheart', but seeing him dressed like that, with swagger and confidence permeating off of him like a crisp cologne, she found it almost impossible to be angry with him. Almost. "I told you not to call me that, Ward," she said, expression perturbed. He smirked and continued walking toward her. _

_"I remember. Sweetheart." He drawled out each syllable in a way that sent an electric chill up her spine._

_"You're trying to piss me off, aren't you?" she asked, managing to level an appropriate amount of annoyed in her voice. It only made his smirk increase. He kept approaching her, and then stopped when he was within her personal space. She could smell his scent; a tantalizing combination of musk and Aqua Velva®. She very nearly cooed upon smelling it. _

_"I would be, if I thought that me doing this was actually pissing you off." He was confident, bordering smug. She hated that she found it arousing. "You see, if, say, Fitz," he snorted at the thought, "called you that, you'd likely bite his head off. Coulson could get away with it, but then, he doesn't count since you used to let him fuck you. Me, you actually enjoy it."_

_She had the presence of mind to remember to roll her eyes, but it came across as telegraphed. "You're delusional." She discreetly rubbed her thighs together. Damn him, he was getting to her. _

_He just laughed huskily. "Then how do you explain that scarlet flush across your cheeks?" He closed the space between them in an instant. She tried to back away, but his hand cupped her rear, keeping her close. Instead of following through on the urge to deck him, her body became hot, face more flushed than before. She inadvertently let out a soft whimper when he placed his other hand on her butt and gave it a squeeze. "Feeling ruttish? How about I take you into that bedroom and… handle that for you?" He leered at her, smiling cockily and crushed his lips against hers. She made no effort to stop him; if anything, she pushed the kiss deeper. _

_She ended the kiss after a time, breathing heavily. "Take me, you bastard," she growled out with a randy smirk._

Melinda awoke to what sounded like a laugh. She assumed it was still Grant, well, dream Grant, and thought nothing of it. She looked at her watch; 7:14 AM. She had slept in the hospital room all night. Not exactly her intention, but she wasn't complaining. Actually, her neck and back were, and they were making legitimate arguments. She sat up from the bed, where she had been resting her head on Grant's bed. Her eyes cast over his still body. Much to her disappointment, he was still sleeping. "Good morning," she muttered.

"Good morning."

She jumped at the sudden reply. "Phil?" Coulson was sitting in a chair by the window, just out of her immediate peripheral vision. She had turned her chair to face his the bed, so she didn't see him.

He smiled. "Sleep well?"

There was a certain knowing tone in his voice. Shit, he must have been the one laughing. Meaning that she was talking in her sleep. Fuck, did she say Grant's name in the dream? No, she didn't think so? Wait! Shit, she did; right at the beginning. Twice, even.

Fuck.

"I slept fine," she answered. So much so that she needed to change her underwear.

"Sounded like it. …Is there something you'd like to tell me, Melinda?"

She managed to look confused. He didn't exactly look like he bought it, and cast his gaze just below hers. She followed it and realized in horror that her fingers were still interlaced with Grant's. _You have got to be joking. _"I…" What could she say? He had surely seen her hand interlocked with Grant's, and heard her say at least one racy thing in her sleep. She opted for half the truth. Wait, the whole truth. "I'm just scared."

"Of?" He frowned and leaned forward.

"Ward… I should be in this bed. He took my place because… I don't exactly know. But he did and it saved my life. I'm in his debt, and if he dies, then I'll never," _see him again, hear his voice again, be held by him again,_ "be able to repay that debt. I'll spend the rest of my life indebted to a dead man."

He considered what she said, and then frowned. "But, holding his hand?"

Shit. Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone? "Machines fail, Phil. You know that. I'm just making sure his pulse is where it needs to be." She did not have feelings for Grant Ward.

"But, you've been holding it all night."

She just shrugged. "I… just didn't want… to wake up and he's gone." That made absolutely no sense, but she prayed that he bought it. But why, when it was the truth?

It was a long moment before he responded. "If that's what you want to believe, then I'll drop it."

What the fuck was _that_ supposed to mean? He always had a knack for calling her out on her bullshit without actually doing it. Well, if that was how he wanted to play it, then game on. "Okay."

His eyebrows raised. "He's still alive," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing ever.

"I'm aware of that."

"Then, why are you still holding his hand?"

"Oh. Right." Reluctantly, more than she thought she was capable of feeling, she allowed his limp hand to slip from her grip. She immediately missed his warmth.

"The doctors will be taking Ward off the brain machine thing today. They've been checking him periodically over night and say they're satisfied with his brain functions. Doesn't look like his brain lost much oxygen."

Doctors? Overnight? "People saw me like this?" She wasn't vain, despite what Grant tried to insinuate. But she couldn't afford for anyone to see her sleeping over his bed and holding his hand. They might have started talking at best and told Director Fury at worst.

He smirked. "Don't worry. Doctors around these parts have an unwritten rule; 'what happens in the hospital room, stays in the hospital room. Agents get hurt everyday, and a lot of things are revealed in these walls. They've learned pretty quickly that they need to keep a lot of things secret to keep their patients from running. You're safe."

She didn't sigh in relief. "Okay." She stood and headed to the restroom to wash up. "Got any toothbrushes in here?"

"Yeah, I stopped by the orthodontist down the hall last night to pick some up."

She opened the medicine cabinet and smirked at the flimsy looking toothbrushes. She grabbed the red one and the toothpaste. "SHIELD is really cheaping out on the toiletries."

"Gotta cut back somewhere." A few minutes later, Melinda walked out, refreshed, but found Phil sitting in her chair. "You spent the night him. The others would like to see him to." He smirked when her shoulders slumped an iota. "I'll work something out so you can stay the night with him, okay?"

She nodded once. She really didn't need to stay the night, just so long as she got to see him. "It's cold in here, so make sure he has more blankets."

Phil nodded. One more reluctant look toward Grant, and then she turned for the door. "Is Barton his replacement?"

"Replacement is such a nasty word in this case. I prefer pinch hitter."

"Surprised to see you still alive. I assume you two talked."

Phil smiled ruefully, and nodded. "That… wasn't a fun conversation, but he eventually understood." She nodded softly. "Go eat something, Melinda. He'll be fine. Promise."

She glared lightly at his insinuating that her concern was for anything other than what she said it was for. "Fine. I'll be back tonight." As soon as dinner was over, she would be there. Because she had a debt to pay, and planned in telling him that she was going to repay it as soon as possible as soon as he woke up.

She did not have feelings for Grant Ward. She was a woman with a debt to repay. Nothing more, nothing less.


	14. Cracks

_**Cracks**_

SHIELD was the foremost peacekeeping organization in the world, but their cafeteria food still tasted like shit. This was a fact that Melinda had found out repeatedly over the years, which was why she preferred to do her own cooking. Today, she wasn't in the mood, so cafeteria slop was on the menu.

She leaned on her elbow and played over her food. The others were with her, carrying on casual conversation, but she paid them no mind. Well, she normally didn't pay their casual conversations any mind, but today, she especially didn't. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see either Fitz or Simmons looking at her. Every time she looked their way, they would quickly look away. They were smart, but made for shitty spies.

"Is there a problem, Fitz?" she asked she caught him looking for the fourth time.

He stammered through five replies at once, as only he could, before settling on one. "I-I was just making sure that you're okay. You don't seem… uh, yourself."

She just stared at him for a lengthy minute. She could see the sweat forming in the pores within his forehead. She wanted to bite his head off for such a stupid question. _Gee Fitz, a guy I'm not in love with is in the hospital because of me and I'm worried sick about him, but other than that, I'm just fucking peachy._ "I'm fine," she finally answered laconically. She got up, threw her tray away and then walked out of the cafeteria without another word to any of them.

It was really starting to annoy her that the others felt the need to inquire about her well-being. First Coulson, then Fitz. It should have been fucking obvious what her deal was; Ward is laid up in a hospital bed, unconscious. She wasn't so heartless that she wouldn't be concerned about that, at the very least. Did they all think so little of her as May and so much of the machine that was the Cavalry?

Fitz and Simmons, she could kind of understand. Stories about the Cavalry and her utter lack emotion were more diverse and rampant at the Academy than stories of Black Widow and her being more than willing to inflict severe bodily harm for so much as giving her a hug. She didn't like it, but she wouldn't castrate someone.

It hurt to think that the others didn't know her well enough to assume that she was worried about her lover… teammate. _Teammate_. She was worried about her teammate. She did not have feelings for Grant Ward. They were bedmates, and nothing more.

"Agent May."

Melinda turned and saw Victoria Hand walking toward her. Finally, someone who was all business. "Agent Hand."

When they met, they shook hands, and then Victoria gestured for her to follow. With Hand, she'd be able to concentrate on something other than Grant. "I understand that you and a teammate were taken captive by AIM for a short while."

_Goddammit. _She sighed and nodded. "That's right. When Agent Ward and I attempted to apprehend Dr. Rappaccini alone."

"Rappaccini alone warrants an entire strike team to apprehend. It's a wonder you two got out with only the injuries you did." She wasn't exactly sure how to take that. It sounded like a backhanded insult, but then, everything sounded like a backhanded insult to her at the time. "She's extremely dangerous, as you well know. More than you know, actually. With AIM's scientific resources, there isn't a toxin in the world that she can't amplify. The mercury in Ward's chest? Simmons said that it was three times more potent than normal mercury could ever be. He should be dead several times over."

A cold sense of dread washed over here, nearly making her knees buckle. She had come with scant millimeters of losing her lov- teammate. _Teammate_. She swallowed thickly and cleared her throat. "We got lucky," she replied tersely. It was all she could muster.

"Indeed. It would be best if your _entire_ team was combat capable. Six, including Barton, should be enough to combat her and whatever henchmen she has with her."

There she went again. "Simmons, Fitz and Skye aren't combat ready, yet. But they are more than capable of aiding our endeavors in other ways."

"If that were the case, then Agent Ward wouldn't be in the condition he's in now," she countered.

"If it wasn't for Simmons and Fitz, he wouldn't be in the condition he's in now," she retorted. She didn't have the heart to finish it with a 'he'd be dead', but she trusted that Hand was intelligent enough to figure it out.

Seemed like she did. "Hm." She lead her to a glass door and swiped her identification card to open it. "Coulson called me right after Ward was saved and told me what happened. We've been looking for Rappaccini ever since, although our search hasn't bore any fruit yet. When it does, I'd like your team to go after her."

Melinda's jaw clenched tightly. Just thinking about wrapping her hands around Rappaccini's neck and slowly strangling the life out of her was enough to make her skin crawl with anticipation.

"Just wanted to let you know now, just in case you weren't feeling up for –"

"I'm in." There was absolutely no way that she was letting that bitch get away with what she did.

"I'd prefer if you didn't kill her," she said as she walked inside a room with multiple people behind computers, and a massive screen on the far wall with several yellow dots marked on a world map. "As you can see, we still need her."

She smirked. She didn't say a word about permanently crippling her.

"We're doing a face trace as we speak, though it's time consuming, considering the amount of real estate we have to sift through. Plus, we have to split our focus on finding the atmospheric inundators before they can be set into place. I've already alerted the mayors of all the major world cities, but I'm afraid that it may be too late."

"It isn't, but if anyone knows, it's Rappaccini. Find her, and she'll lead us right to them."

"You're so sure?" Hand half commented, half inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"I plan on interrogating her when she's in our custody. I'll have her singing within minutes." She planned on having her do more than sing. Shiver with fear, cry, and beg for mercy were tops on the list of things she wanted her to do. She may not have been able to kill her like she wanted, but she sure as shit was going to make her life a living hell for those few moments. A hell that she would never, ever forget. "Let me know when you find her."

Victoria eyed her carefully. "Of course."

* * *

Hours passed and Melinda wondered aimlessly through the Hub. She visited the various labs that she had high enough clearance to enter, and poked around for a bit to are what the Sci-Tech grads were working on. Predictably, she found Fitzsimmons and Skye in one of the labs, messing around with some of the confiscated AIM tech. The former two eyed her warily, while Skye just eyed her and then smiled. Melinda sighed and nodded back before leaving.

While it would have been good to spend time with her team, to rally with them, she quickly found that she had no desire to be around any of them, save Phil. It wasn't right, considering that what Hand said about that mercury put into a new light what Simmons had done; but it was how she felt. She only wanted to talk to Grant. She wanted to hold him and tell him how much she appreciated him for what he did. She wanted to kiss him all over and tell him that she loved him too dearly for him to die.

Wait, no, that wasn't right. She did _not_have feelings for Grant Ward. _I swear I don't. He's a fuck buddy. Nothing more, nothing less. I don't love him. I don't._

She found a secluded area to prepare for Tai Chi. It was getting to be too much to handle on her own. She took off her vest and shirt, leaving her in just her sports bra. _Breathe in… breathe out. _She closed her eyes. _"God, Melinda, you're so tight!" _Her eyes shot open as an involuntary blush swept across her cheeks, "Get out of my fucking head," she grumbled darkly.

"Sorry, just can't help it. All those fantasies you have about me are just too compelling to stop." For a brief second, she thought was Grant. She was elated beyond words. But then, her mind processed the voice and her spirit was crushed with disappointment. She clenched her fists tightly and whirled around to level a dark glare on Hawkeye. "Whoa," he said, putting his hands up in defeat, "just a joke. Calm down. Though that blush makes me think you aren't exactly angry." He smirked.

"What the fuck do you want?" His smirk soured about bit. "Sorry. I just… have a lot on my mind."

"Ward?" he guessed.

She faltered, and then nodded. "He took a bullet for me, and now he's paying my tab."

He nodded knowingly. "That's not all, is it?" She looked at him strangely. He couldn't possibly have known, could he? "I know what it's like to live in denial of your own feelings. To delude yourself and lie to yourself and everyone else. I've been there before. Trust me, what you're going through right now… it's only going to get worse with each passing day. The longer you keep it bottled up inside, the angrier and more on edge you'll get. Until you snap, and do something so wholly out of character that it all comes crashing down the painful way. I can see that that's where this is headed from miles away."

She couldn't possibly be deluding herself, because there was nothing to delude herself from. "I don't love him, if that's what you're implying." Her heart skipped a beat.

"I never said you did. But keep it up, and you'll learn the hard way. Or admit it and save yourself the heartache."

She stared him in his cloudy blue eyes. "Admit what? And to who? I can't delude myself from nothing."

He shook his head and took a wary step forward. "When I admitted my love for Tasha to Coulson years ago, I felt like a tremendous weight had been lifted off my shoulders. The same can happen for you."

"There's nothing for me to admit to you or anyone else, other than you're really pissing me off."

He was undeterred. Years of working with the Black Widow at work. "There's obviously something between you and Grant."

"No, there isn't," she answered quickly. Too quickly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Coulson said that he saw you sleeping in his room, holding his hand while you slept. Fingers interlaced."

"So what? I gave him my reasons for that." They were sound, right?

"And we both agree that they were the biggest pieces of bullshit we had ever heard. We've worked with Stark, so we know bullshit when we hear it."

She was seething with anger. Not because he was confronting her about her supposed 'love for Ward', but because he was so calm and so fucking right. She leveled her most intense glare, the one that could make Fury step back. Barton did as well, to her satisfaction.

Poor Skye. She just approached at the wrong time. "Um, May?"

"What the _fuck_ do you want?!" she snarled.

Skye jumped. Clint frowned and folded his arms over his chest. "I… they found her."

And then, all of a sudden, she calmed. She bent down to retrieve her shirt and vest, and then wordlessly walked away without so much as a first glance toward either of them. If Skye thought she was scary right then, and she most certainly did, all she had to do was wait and then be present when Melinda found Rappaccini. Then, she would learn just how scary the Cavalry really was.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ I'll be posting an M rated MayWard story later on today, so look out for that. _


	15. The Cavalry

_**The Cavalry**_

SHIELD's intel informed that Rappaccini and nearly five dozen agents were seen moving into a facility in Black Mesa, Colorado. Time was of the essence, so they moved out immediately and opted to brief the strike team en route on the Bus. Among the agents tasked with bringing Rappaccini in were Melinda and her team, Clint, and a team of five agents led by Agent John Garrett, otherwise known as Grant's former SO. Skye was extremely intrigued to meet him, and wanted to make an effort to get to know him more, which was code for learn some of Grant's dirty secrets.

As soon as briefing as over, Melinda practically teleported into the cockpit. She didn't want anyone to see or bother her while she was contemplating which spinal disk to break, and how to render Rappaccini a quadriplegic. She couldn't wait to inflict as much damage not just to her but to her whole fucking organization. Grant always said that he went easy on the bad guys because they were still people with families. She never disputed out loud, but she always found that line of thought to be utterly stupid. Bad people were bad people because they didn't care about anyone but themselves. If _they_ didn't care about their families, then why should she?

She didn't, so she wasn't going to show even a scant ounce of mercy. She was going to pay for it later, but that was what Grant was… oh. He had better have woken up soon. _Please be awake when I come back._

* * *

"It's three stories, and Rappaccini is on the top floor," Skye informed as they were running surveillance when they arrived to Colorado an hour later. Agents were swarming about on the outside, a far cry from Boca Caliente. There were also aircrafts littering the front areas, being loaded with supplies by a few of the agents.

"She'll be surrounded, since she has to suspect that we're coming for her," Phil said. "Some of us will have to go from the ground floor up to draw in the majority of the fire. Garrett, how many more are coming?"

"A dozen. I think they can handle themselves for ten, fifteen minutes."

He nodded, and then turned to where Melinda was sitting by herself on the far side of the room. "Garrett, you, May and I will be infiltrating from the roof. Everyone else, come in through the ground floor. Either way she goes, she isn't getting away."

Melinda scoffed. Coulson was damn right that she wasn't getting away. Not if she had anything to say about it. "May?" Her eyes cut away from the corner of the table she had been staring at during the final briefing to Coulson. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked softly.

She just stared at him. For as much as she appreciated his loving, naturally 'concerned for others' personality, right then, it was the most annoying thing. "I'll be fine."

"Because Barton told me how you snapped at Skye, for no reason. If you can't control yourself because of War-"

"Get off my back, Coulson."

He faltered visibly and frowned. "Fine. Move out in ten."

She watched him leave, and then wrapped her fingers around the small cylindrical device Fitz tentatively handed her. "That's a EMP device. Jus' press the button on top and all electrical devices with a short range will –"

"I know how EMPs work, Fitz." This mission had better have started soon. She was really starting to lose her patience.

Fitz gulped and nodded. "Right. But, your comm will also short out, so be prudent about using it," he said at supersonic speed before scurrying off somewhere away from her. She watched him and Simmons whisper amongst themselves without as ounce of care. Who gave a shit if they were talking about her? When they saw her looking at them, they panicked slightly and turned away.

She left the room to mentally prepare.

* * *

Ten minutes passed, and a pilot of Melinda's choosing directed the Bus down toward the base. The back hatch opened, and a tethered Clint unleashed a volley of Stark tech explosive arrows that rendered the aircrafts on the ground, as well as the entrances in the front and on the roof, expensive scrap metal. A Quinjet landed on the ground, and a dozen agents poured out to meet the AIM agents coming to confront them.

Melinda, Coulson and Garrett quickly exited the Bus on the roof, as per the plan, and entered through the entrance Clint so ostentatiously unlocked. They were met immediately by five agents, armed with large laser rifles. While Coulson and Garrett prepared to duck for cover, Melinda very casually fired clean holes into each of their heads with Grant's laser pistol. Without so much as a second glance, she moved on. "Move your asses. Let's go."

John and Phil shared a glance.

She was a one woman army. A demolition crew compressed into a size four. Her features didn't soften an iota as agents dropped their arms and begged for mercy. Phil was willing to let them live, Garrett was prepared to knock them out. Melinda shot holes into their heads without a second thought.

"May, what are you doing?" Coulson demanded as they charged down a corridor.

"My job. You?"

They engaged a group of incoming agents whose fire was too much for them to take with damage. They all ducked behind a large metal table that Phil quickly overturned. "You should have stayed on the Bus." John rose up and opened fire with his assault rifle. Three of the fifteen fell.

"I told you I'm fine." She followed Garrett and quickly killed three more. Phil followed that up with five more, and just barely missed getting nicked by a bullet.

"No, you're not. You just killed men who had surrendered."

"Who knows what they would have done once on our plane. You don't know these people, Coulson." She knew, deep down inside, that he had every right to question her. But she wasn't in the mood for arguing. Especially when she had more important people to deal with.

"You don't either." He reloaded a fresh clip and unloaded them into the remaining agents. They fell, one by one, with heavy thuds. "We'll discuss this later."

"Fine."

_=Rappaccini's up ahead, AC. Double metal doors at the end of the hall. Looks like she's alone,= Skye chirped into Phil's comm._

"Good. We'll get in and get out."

_=Um, what the hell's up with May? She's acting all T-1000-iny. Total Terminator.=_

Phil stole a glance at her and watched as she snapped two men's necks, with her hands and feet. He sighed. "I don't know. I'll find out soon."

The three reached the metal doors Skye alerted them to with no further trouble. Clint radioed in and said that the bottom two floors and the perimeter were almost cleared, but there was no sign of the inundators. Phil cursed. "Guess it was too much to hope for. Skye, the door."

He placed a phone looking device on the door's keypad, to allow Skye to hack the door code. The red light above the number pad turned green, and a soft click sounded from the locking mechanism. Just then, a pair of agents opened fire on them from behind. As Phil and John returned fire, Melinda opened the door and slipped inside. "May!" Phil shouted as she closed the door before they could follow her.

At last.

The room was large, maybe a third of the perimeter of the entire building. In the middle, Monica Rappaccini sat hunched on a table, a welding torch in one hand and a piece of large metal in the other. "I'll be with you in a minute," she said. Apparently, she didn't know what was happening outside.

No matter.

Melinda reached into her vest pocket and pulled out the EMP Fitz gave her. Stepping further into the room, she turned it on. Suddenly, the door's locking mechanism and keypad, Melinda's comm, and whatever tech Monica had on her person or in the room shorted out.

"Dammit," Monica cursed. She switched off and dropped the torch onto the table, and took off the high-tech looking goggles she had on her head.

"Rappaccini," she hissed.

She turned and looked genuinely surprised. "Agent May, fancy seeing you here. Thought you'd be mourning your dead boyfriend." A quick trigger finger rendered the metal cuffs equipped with toxic gas dispensers on her wrists smoldering scrap. She sighed and took those off. "So, am I under arrest?"

Melinda dropped the laser gun. "No. Not yet you're not."


	16. Snapped

_**A/N: **__The moment you've all been waiting for is finally here._

_**Snapped**_

Phil rammed his shoulder into the door repeatedly, and somehow cursed when it predictably did nothing but hurt. "Damn it! Skye, what's happening in there?"

_=…I don't know. The cameras in there are shorted out.=_

He cursed again. "Garrett, blow the door." He watched Garrett take out a small explosive device and attach it to the door. The two ran back and took cover. The small explosion shook the hall, but didn't even make so much as a scratch on the door.

"That's one tough door," he commented.

"We don't have time for this. Fitz, get in here and open this door."

_=Uh, yes sir.=_

* * *

Melinda didn't even flinch when the explosion hit the door. There was no way she was taking her eyes off of Monica. She didn't like her. She didn't her, and she didn't like her face. She wanted to rearrange it with vicious intensity.

"Well," she said as she stood from the table. The metal chair screeched harshly against the metal floor. "I have to say that I'm glad you're here."

She took two steps forward. "Really?" She then kept walking until she was a mere three feet from her.

"Yes. You and I have unfinished business, and you're boyfriend isn't here to save you this time." Melinda didn't say a word, nor did she react in any way to how she was speaking. Monica looked at her curiously. "Hm. Surprised you didn't deny it like he di-" She was cut off by Melinda's fist impacting her nose. She somehow looked surprised as warm crimson blood poured down her mouth and chin.

"I am going to enjoy this." Her fists blurred through the air and didn't stop until Monica's head was jolting from side to side from the two sudden hooks.

If she learned anything from watching FitzSimmons over the last few months, it was that scientists were absolute shit at fighting. Not all of them were like Agent Bobbi Morse, who was one of the few to graduate from SciTech, and then move to Field Ops and actually have success. The first two punches Rappaccini threw were valiant in their attempt to be somewhat accurate and respectable, but, predictably, were telegraphed and just plain bad. "You suck," she commented as easily dodged around them and countered them both with straight jabs to her chest.

She growled and reached for the still hot piece of metal she had been welding on the table. Melinda grabbed her hair to stop her and then slammed her head into the table. When she recoiled, she struck her in the chin with a hook kick.

"I… had seventy-five ways to stop you," she revealed as she crawled to her feet. Melinda grabbed her arm and twisted it. "Agh! You wouldn't be so cocky with that EMP!" She threw another punch with her free arm, but frowned and winced when it was caught and her arm twisted.

Melinda looked into her eyes with the cold, empty stare of someone who didn't value their opponent's life. Her green orbs were quivering, dripping with fear. Without warning, she jerked her down and into her rising knee. She slumped to the floor, and wouldn't have said anything had Melinda not stamped on her twisted elbow with all her might, snapping it like a twig. She shrieked in pain and tried to get away. "Get the fuck off of me!" Thrashing worked, and her arm slipped free from her grip. She tried to scamper away, but Melinda grabbed her leg.

"Where do you think you're going?" Monica tried to kick her away, but her boot was caught and she was flipped onto her back. She found herself in a precarious position, and she shook her head furiously.

For the first time, Melinda grinned. "No, don't!" Her foot zipped forward and her steel toed boot struck Monica between her legs. Again and again, until she was screaming and spitting up blood.

"You like that?!" She stomped on her stomach. "That feel good, yeah?!" She stomped on both of her knees, and then let her go. "You fucking bitch!" She mounted her and started laying heavy punches to her face. Blood splattered across the floor and her vest. Rage and hate and everything that she had been trying to bottle up and had been letting loose on her teammates, at know want of her own, burst loose. Like a dam exploding from the pressure behind it, everything fell upon Rappaccini with unforgiving inexorability.

She had snapped.

She didn't notice that she had lost consciousness some time after the first few hits, but the rage and hate and pain kept her eyes blinded behind a pair of blood color glasses. Ward's body lying lifeless on the table, pools of blood dripping from the edges to the floor kept flashing through her head like a song on repeat.

She didn't notice when her Hand's wrapped themselves around her throat and started to strangle the life out of her. She didn't stop when the door fell open. Or when three people rushed in the room.

"May!"

Someone shouted her name, but she didn't stop. She could feel her pulse quickening with each passing second. She was in the narrowly focused mind frame of killing the woman beneath her. To drain every ounce of life force that was coursing through her. Her fingers tightened, even as Monica's own hands shot up to pry her grip loose.

"May, stop!"

Someone tried to grab her named pull her off, but she bucked them away. No one, nothing was going to stop her before Rappaccini was a corpse in her hands, by her own hand.

A hand touched hers. Older, wrinkled and with a few aged and faded scars. "Melinda." Phil's voice cut through the blood red rage her mind was trapped in. In an instant, everything came to a screeching halt. "Let her go."

_Rain poured down her face, washing the blood and gore away from her face and hair. The smell of death and Bahrain made her gag with each choked breath. In her hands rested a young girl, lifeless and still. Tears dripped freely down her blood stained cheeks. "Melinda," he whispered. "Let her go."_

On reflex, her grip evaporated. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she looked down with clarity for the first time. Monica was a mess. Bloodied, face swollen and red finger marks already visible on her neck. What had she done? What did she almost do? "I…"

"Get them out of here. We're done here."

* * *

_"Trust me, what you're going through right now… it's only going to get worse with each passing day. The longer you keep it bottled up inside, the angrier and more on edge you'll get. Until you snap, and do something so wholly out of character that it all comes crashing down the painful way."_

"Do you fathom what you very nearly did?"

As soon as the team exited the facility with Rappaccini and whatever AIM agents were still alive after the assault, Melinda slowly followed Phil into his office. She could hear the whispers that 'Mommy was going to get in trouble'. She felt bad because she almost murdered her, when Hand specifically specified that she wanted her alive. Everything else, the beating, the broken arm and shattered pelvis, didn't even phase her. In fact she would have done it again and again if given the chance. Whether she could get away with it or not.

But, despite how very badly she wanted revenge on her, she didn't feel any better. It didn't help or solve any of her more pressing issues; namely, the guilt that Ward was hurt, and her not being able to be held in his warm embrace by a night of gentle love making. She really missed –

"Melinda!"

Her eyes slowly rose until their gazes met. Phil was angry. Very angry. She hadn't seen him that angry since Barton had his first mission without an extraction point. His anger was directed at her. That was uncharted territory.

Her head slowly nodded. "I do," she replied softly.

"When I asked you on this plane prior to the operation whether you were able to keep yourself together, you told me to get off your back. I did because I trust you. When Melinda May says she's fine, I can trust that she's telling me the truth."

Already, his words, or their implied meaning, were cutting deep. Nevertheless, she said nothing.

He continued. "I went against my better judgement and allowed you to take part in the mission because I trusted you to keep your shit together. You didn't, from the very start. Melinda, you killed agents who had already surrendered. What kind of message is that sending Fitz and Simmons? Skye? They're young, and when they see an agent as respected and experienced as you killing left and right without ruth or mercy, then they may start to think that that's the real way we handle business in the field. When you and I both know that it's not."

He was able to keep his anger and disappointment in check, but she could see it as clearly as day behind his eyes. It wasn't the anger that hurt, but the disappointment. It hurt that she had failed his trust.

Again, though, she remained silent.

"You almost killed a suspect that we very dearly need to complete our mission. For what, I can only guess that you're angry that she hurt you and almost killed Ward. I get that; I'm angry, too." No. He didn't get it. She wasn't just angry. "You almost jeopardized a vital mission, costing us our maybe one chance at finding AIM's machines and savings thousands, maybe millions of lives. You'd better be thankful that Simmons is as smart as she is. She's working on Rappaccini as we speak, and said that she'll be up in a few hours. Hours we could be using to find the inundators, but can't, because she's unconscious. If AIM activates even one of them and kills people in the time between now and when she wakes up for us to interrogate her, then it falls on me. On us. You understand that?"

She nodded slowly again. Everything he said was right. She had no way or desire to dispute a word of what he said. She fucked up, pure and simple. It fell on no one but her, and she had to own up to it.

But still, she said nothing.

"I gave you a chance to tell me what was bothering you this morning. When you lied, I dropped it. I'm not dropping it this time. You're going to tell me what's the matter with you, even if we have to sit here all day." He reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone, placing it on the desk. He then rifled through said desk and pulled out a Rubix cube. "Whenever you're ready."

Melinda watched him fiddle with the Rubix cube, switching the sides back and forth with expert precision. She didn't say a word. She couldn't. Not because she didn't know; oh, she knew exactly what her problem was. The issue was that she couldn't bring herself to admit it to _herself_ in order to tell him.

So, she sat in silence, eyes on his hands and the truth dancing on the tip of her tongue. Every so often, she'd open her mouth a little to test her willingness to tell herself the truth. Every time, like clockwork, she shut it again, just as his eyes cut toward her.

She did not love Grant Ward. They were bedmates. Nothing more.


	17. Bad Cop

_**Bad Cop**_

They had sat in silence for the better part of four hours. Melinda really had to hand it to him; not a lot of people would sit with her in complete silence with the expectation that she was going to say something at any time. Or, maybe he knew her well enough to know that she wasn't and didn't bother letting it bother him.

As he maneuvered the Rubix cube for what had to have been the hundredth time, she looked down at the front of his desk, fiddling with her thumbs. The words, the words she didn't want to say or admit were even a possibility, were right on her tongue. Goading her, telling her to grow a pair and look reality in the face for what it was. But she couldn't. Because it wasn't supposed to happen.

Ward, he was just a bedmate, or was supposed to be. They would fuck after every tough mission and then go on about their business. This wasn't supposed to happen. They had fucking rules and precautions so this very thing wouldn't happen.

So, what went wrong?

She blamed Ward. He was just so… sweet and loving. Why, for a woman who was just a glorified booty call? How could he develop feelings for someone like her? How could she do so in return?

Phil's phone vibrated. He placed the cube in the desk and picked up the phone to check the message. "She's awake," he announced, with what proved to be the first words uttered in the last four hours. He stood after replacing the solved cube in his desk, and walked to the door. "I have to say, I'm impressed," he said as he opened the door, "you went… four hours without saying a word to me. That's a record."

He wasn't angry, he was amused. It made her sick. If she wasn't going to tell him the truth outright, then she do it in a roundabout way. "Agent Ward and I have been having sex."

There was a lengthy pause. "And suddenly, the world makes sense," he said before slamming the door closed.

_Fuck you, Ward. Just fuck you._

* * *

"Everything cool, boss?" Clint asked as Phil approached.

Everything was certainly not fine, as he had literally just found out that two of his agents, one being his ex-fiancee, were having sex on his plane, behind his back. "Yeah, just needed to hash something out with May." They shared a short look, which said so much. "Is she cognizant?"

Clint nodded. "Yeah. You going in or should I?"

"I will. This shouldn't be too long." With that, Phil stepped inside the interrogation room and closed the door behind him. Rappaccini was covered in cuts and bruises. He couldn't help but grimace. Her eye was still slightly swollen, but not nearly as much as it could have been, if not for Simmons. She really was a miracle worker. Her good arm was wrapped around her chest, with her other one in a splint. "Dr. Rappaccini?"

Her eyes cut toward him, scanning over him quickly before flicking back to the wall. He smiled and took a seat.

His smiled faded into seriousness. "Okay, then let's cut to the chase. Where are the inundators?"

She said nothing.

He looked mildly interested in what she was looking at, but internally, his patience was wearing thin. They were already pressed for time, thanks to May, and now it seemed that Rappaccini had no intention of talking. "May got your tongue?" he quipped, despite being very annoyed.

She shrugged. "How long have I been out?"

"Four hours." Hours wasted on nothing but sitting and waiting.

She chuckled. "Well, you're screwed."

He already knew that. "Why is that?"

She didn't answer.

A harsh sigh breezed through his nose. He closed his eyes tightly. "The inundator needs water to function right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Meaning that, if you plan on attacking cities with out, you'll need to be near water, right?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not."

"Enough games!" he snapped, finally losing his patience. "People's lives are at risk, and I'll be damned if I let you or anyone else stop us from saving them."

She laughed tauntingly. "As I suspected. You're up against the wall and need me to bail you out. Fine, I'll throw you a bone. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of cities worldwide that are established near a coast. Be it a river, lake, sea or ocean. The inundators are in one of the cities."

They'd spend hours, maybe days looking for them at that rate. "Which ones?" She shrugged. "You do, and you aren't leaving this room until you do."

She smirked and tucked her good hand behind her head. "Guess I'm in it for the long haul, _Dad_. Hey, can I get some water. I'm pretty thirsty after being abused by one of your people. Trying to soften me up beforehand, by the way?"

Phil didn't answer the latter question. "I'll see that you get something to drink," he said before walking out. "Well, that was a waste of time." It seemed that that was all they had been doing lately.

"Let me at her, boss. I'll have her singing in minutes," Clint offered.

"I know how _you'll_ have her singing," he countered with a knowing smirk. "I'm sure that no one here wants to see that."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Fine. But we have to get her to talk somehow."

"You're right. But… oh. Good cop, bad cop."

Clint groaned. "Seriously? Has that ever worked?"

"Sure, with people of weak wills. Rappaccini isn't a weak willed person."

"Then why'd you even bring it up? I suppose you or Simmons would be the good cop. Likely Simmons because they're intellectual peers. The bad cop would be…"

As much as he didn't want to deal with her right then, he had no choice. "May."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Because of the ass kicking she leveled on her. Good call. Heh, might want to hold off on the water until later, then. Seeing May again might have her pissing her pants."

Phil smirked despite himself. "You get Simmons, I'll get May."

* * *

Phil opened the door to his office and frowned when he found Melinda sitting in the exact same place she had been when he left. Granted, it wasn't that long ago, but he would have assumed that she would have moved on to the cockpit. Her shoulders were slumped and her head was down. She looked ragged and pathetic; not a state that he hadn't seen her in before. Like then, in twisted his heart up in knots.

"Where to?" she asked quietly.

"Don't know. She isn't talking. I was hoping you'd do the good cop, bad cop routine with Simmons. Seeing you might change her mind."

"Sure I won't jeopardize the world at large when I snap like some psychopath?" She was bitter and angry, but not at him.

"I… trust that you'll keep it together this time. This is our one shot. Please don't make me regret this. And the technical term is sociopath, by the way."

She sighed heavily and stood. His heart jumped at seeing her puffy red eyes. Had she been crying? He wanted to ask, but her glare told him everything he needed to know. She had, and it may not have been him who pushed her there.

Simmons jumped out of reflex when she saw Melinda walking down the hall with Phil. She tried not to sigh, but she couldn't help it. Seeing what she had done to Rappaccini in such a short time likely scared her. "H-hello, Agent May. Ready to play bad cop."

She could have said something corny, like she was born ready, which wasn't necessarily untrue, but she was in no mood. She had cried for the first time in months, and it was all Ward's fault. She couldn't wait until he woke up so she could kiss him hard. Oh, and kick his ass. She was going to do that, too. "Yes," she said tersely. Thankfully, no one could see how pathetic she really was due to her aviators.

"Right. Well, let's go, then." Simmons smiled lopsidedly and nervously shuffled her notecards. She could see questions scribbled on the top one.

Melinda flung the door open and smirked smugly when Monica flinched.

"Hello, Dr. Rappaccini. I'm Agent Simmons, and, well, you're already well acquainted with Agent May. I've a few questions to ask you, and I hope you've answers."

"I know who you are, Dr. Simmons. I've read about some of your work. I'm quite impressed." Melinda rolled her eyes when Simmons blushed. "Tell me, since no one else will, how's Agent Ward faring?"

Melinda wouldn't admit it, but she did inhale deeply when she mentioned Ward.

"Quite well, actually. He's resting as we speak."

"A shame. But impressive. I thought for sure that the mercury would have killed him within a minute. Tell me, who cured him?"

"It did, for seventeen and a half seconds." The longest seventeen and a half seconds of her entire life. "But you're looking at the one who brought him back. I'll admit that it wasn't as easy as I would have liked."

"Well, look at you. I'd clap, but," she wiggled her splinted arm. "How did you do it?"

"I had an antitoxin for mercury prepared before the mission started. A good scientist is always prepared, after all."

Monica smirked. "Well, you are certainly a good scientist."

She could feel her jaw tightening by second. These two were having a fucking casual intercourse while time was ticking away. Could Simmons really not see what was happening?

"Oh, stop." She tapped her notecards on the table. "But, really, I'm going to need you to answer these questions."

Monica shrugged. "Really, that's a waste of time."

"And why is that?"

"Because it really doesn't matter what I say, the results will remain the same."

"Oh, I beg to differ. And besides, it really is in your best interest to cooperate."

"And why is that?" she parroted.

"Because, then I'll have to leave leave, and you two will be alone. I believe you recall what happened the last time you two were alone. You really don't want to relive any of that, do you?"

Melinda didn't have to try very hard to look overly intimidating. She did have to try not to throw something at Simmons.

Monica swallowed roughly, then shrugged dismissively. "Eh. I doubt that sap Coulson will let anything happen."

Simmons' eyebrows raised. "So, then you're seriously won't cooperate?" She stood from the chair. Melinda clenched her fists and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Like I said, it won't make a difference. So there's no point in playing these games."

"Well, if that's how you plan of playing it." Simmons backed away toward the door. "Don't say I didn't warn you." The cheerfulness in her voice made her sick, but seeing her back away felt like someone taking the leash off of a rabid, pissed off pitbull. One who's new sole purpose in life was to tear someone's face off.

Melinda stepped forward from the corner of the room and removed her aviators. Pure, unadulterated hate permeated from her brown eyes, outlined with an aura of ruthless aggression that was once again beating against the cage of her control. She didn't stop until she was directly in front of the chair Simmons had been sitting in. A casual grab and toss sent it flying into the wall with a loud clang. Monica jumped. "Are you afraid of me?" Melinda asked in an eerily calm voice.

Monica had the gall to scoff. "No. I'm not afraid of some SHIELD agen–" Melinda grabbed her head, cutting her off, and slammed her face into the hard metal table. The sound of her skull meeting metal was loud and sickening. Two, three, four, five times she slammed her head down, until blood was drawn. "Agh! Again?! Where the hell are my rights?!"

Melinda grabbed her face, fingers digging deeply into her cheeks. "You have no fucking rights on my plane," she growled lowly. "You're just a toy that I can play with at my leisure, and break when I'm bored. I can tear your limbs off and twists your head off like a top, because I'm bored with you. You'll answer her questions, or I will impale you on your own fucking spine, do you hear me?" She grinned savagely, showing just for the briefest of moments just how unhinged she had become. "If you think I'm playing, try me. No, I want you to. Test me, and give me a fucking reason to kill you. Do it, make me enjoy ending your life as slowly and painfully as you know I can manage."

Monica couldn't speak because of Melinda's grip on her face, but her eyes were literally shaking with fear. Her hand was gripping the table so tightly that her nails seemed like they were going to crack. Melinda, satisfied, let her go and turned to leave.

Simmons was terrified.

Melinda didn't care. She had done her job to a t.

_**A/N:**__ Word to the wise, don't give May a reason not to like you._


	18. Confession and Consequences

_**Confession and Consequences **_

Melinda went to the cockpit and stayed there, so she missed the interrogation. She assumed that it went well, since Coulson told her to head back to the Hub ten minutes later. Finally. Even though it had only been a few hours, it felt like days since they had left. The mission had been a success, but it couldn't have possibly gone worse in her mind. Her actions, no, _The Cavalry's_ actions, were still fresh and replaying in her head constantly, staining her memory like a bad movie. She completely disregarded everything she had fought to bury deep down inside since that fateful day in Bahrain and allowed that… monster to take over.

It nearly cost them everything; everything they had done and gone through would have been in vain.

She sighed. She would have been shocked if Phil regarded her in the same way again. He was counting on her to keep her cool despite being agitated, and she damn near blew it.

For a brief moment, she closed her eyes. Her hands wrapped around Rappaccini's throat flashed through her mind. She almost killed someone; she killed men who had already surrendered. Why?

She knew why, because she hurt someone she cared about. But, it went deeper than that. She didn't want to say it, even think it. To admit it was to admit that someone had managed to get that close to her heart without her noticing. She wasn't exactly sure if she was even all that upset with the fact itself, and it was just her pride not being able to come to terms with it.

It shouldn't have happened. She was normally, always, so careful with everything. She did nothing, this included, without first foreseeing any possible problems or issues that would and could arise, and then taking steps to compensate for them. She did the same here and still the worst case scenario, well, second worst, happened. Was happening before her eyes. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. A not insignificant part of her didn't even want to stop it.

She loved him, and she didn't want to admit it. Because she was Melinda May; she didn't do love, or romance. Every time they slept together, she made sure to sleep with her back to him to make sure she couldn't look into his big, soulful brown eyes and fall in love more quickly than she did.

Damn him and his wanting to be close to her. Damn him and his adorable little schemes to trick her into cuddling. Damn it, did she just use the word adorable? What had this man done to her?!

The cockpit door opened. Phil sat down in the co-pilot's chair. She huffed. He raised an eyebrow. "Am I intruding?"

"No. Just… thinking."

"About Ward." He carried a knowing smile, so she didn't bother to answer. "Hand said he's doing much better. Should even be waking up in the next days, at the most."

A small smile unconsciously appeared on her lips. She made it go away. "That's good."

"What you're doing is adorable," he commented.

_That's what Ward would say. No, stop it!_ "What am I doing?"

"Trying to stop something you want to happen from happening. Now that I look back, that's been you're problem this whole time. And it's pretty adorable seeing you all flustered."

"I. Am not. Adorable."

_"I beg to differ, sweetheart."_

_Melinda pulled the sheets up to her chest and then turned to glare at Grant's smiling form. God, he was delicious. "Unless you want your face to be a permanent fixture on that wall, Agent Ward, I suggest you don't say that again."_

_"Say what, pudding pie?" he goaded before lunging and attacking her exposed neck. She moaned and suddenly forgot what she was so annoyed about._

_"Mmm…"_

"What did Rappaccini say?" she asked, desperate to get her mind on something else.

To that, Phil sighed heavily. "She didn't know where they were. Honestly. She gave an order yesterday that in the event of her capture, they were to move the inundators to three new cities. She did give us the frequency for the electromagnetic waves the machines use, thankfully. Hand is doing a tech trace now, but it'll take a while."

She just nodded. She figured that it was safe to assume that her bad cop portrayal was what tipped things in their favor. That was one thing she did right today.

Minutes passed without another word being said between the two. They had grown close enough to know that silences like this were just the harbinger to an uncomfortable conversation. She sighed.

"What were you thinking?"

There was no malice or anger in his voice, but only concern. For her, her well-being, her mental health.

She answered the only way she could, with the truth. "I wasn't." She touched a knob on the panel in front of her. She could feel his eyes shifting from her to her hand, prodding silently for her to continue. "I was only concerned with getting back at her. For what she did to us."

"To Ward," he corrected.

She sighed, but didn't dispute. "When I saw what she had done, I wanted nothing more than to kill her." She shifted her eyes until they shared a gaze. "What does that say?"

"It says to me that you care a great deal about him. More than you would if this thing between you was just sex. By the way, it's never 'just sex'."

She snorted derisively. "Two people can have a purely physical relationship."

"Yes, when they don't spend hours upon hours within an enclosed place together everyday. You and Ward do; this should have been expected."

Sighing, she flipped the plane into autopilot. "It was, which was why we had rules. No kissing when sober. Flirting kept to a minimum. Only fucking when drunk and after missions. No cuddling after sex." She didn't appreciate him snickering at that one. "No love, no emotion. It's just sex. Nothing more."

Phil smiled. "You're lying. There is more. I can see, Barton can see it, Ward could see it, and you can, too. It's that you two don't want to admit it. When did this start?"

"After our exposure to the Berzerker staff."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That was months ago."

"Yep."

"You two are good."

"Yep."

* * *

Melinda didn't even have a chance to touch the ground the Hub was built on before Hand quickly approached her. She didn't look happy. "My office, Agent May."

She was walking quickly, and didn't say a word throughout their walk to her office. She could feel the eyes of everyone they passed lying on her. She would be lying if she said that she didn't feel a little self-conscious.

When they reached Victoria Hand's office, Hand didn't waste any time. "You want to explain to me what the hell that was?"

There were very few things that she could have been talking about, and only one of them could have her this angry. Melinda sighed. This was what people were talking about when they said to think before one acts. "No," she said simply. "You want an explanation, get it from Coulson."

They stared at each other for a very long time. "Fine," she replied tersely after several tense moments. "I'm taking you off this mission. I've already called in Romanoff from DC."

She didn't say anything. She stood, and waited the appropriate amount of time in case Hand had something else to say, and then walked out when she didn't. When she opened the door, she say Phil standing there, hand raised as if about to knock. "Good luck," she said without an ounce of regret.

His expression went from calm to angry and then back to calm in record time. He slammed the door closed, and she smiled.


	19. Awake

_**A/N: **__To answer a guest review, AC stands for Agent Coulson._

* * *

_**Awake**_

Melinda awoke the next morning in Ward's room, in the same position she was in the morning before. Sometime during the night, her hand had become intertwined in his. She didn't really mind. She even gasped and smiled fondly when his squeezed hers softly. He was coming to.

But did she want to be there when he did? Something like that was obvious an emotional moment, and she really didn't want the feelings she was already struggling with to be multiplied when they locked eyes for the first time.

She found herself dreading seeing him awake for that exact reason. What would he say? What would he do when he first saw her? Likely try and kiss her, since she was sure he was dealing with the same thing she was.

She wasn't sure if she would be able to handle that right away.

A sudden rattle near the bed jolted her upward.

"I could have killed you twenty times by the time I made you realize I was here. You're slipping, old woman." Natasha Romanoff stood at the foot of the bed, hand near the rack holding Ward's medical chart. A sly smirk played on her ample lips as she watched Melinda shake the post-sleep confusion from her head.

"Hn," she grunted blearily.

She pulled a chair over near her and sat down. "So, what Clint said was true."

"What are you talking about?"

She didn't respond, but she cut her sharp gaze from her to the bed. May quickly realized what she was looking at. She grunted. "Not a word."

She smirked and glanced down again at her former SO's hand again. "We'll be leaving for Costa Rica within an hour. Thought I'd stop by and check on you. Heard you've been having a rough time lately."

A rough time didn't tell the half of it. "I almost killed Rappaccini. I've had more than a rough time."

"There wouldn't be an almost if I were you. You always did have more restraint in these situations." She sighed. "I won't say I'm happy for you, since that's the last thing you want to hear, but it wouldn't be a mistake if this were to go to the next level. Ward's a pretty good guy. Bit of a stick in the mud, but good nonetheless."

Melinda just stared at her. She didn't want relationship advice, because there was no relationship. They were just having sex. Where the fuck did all this other shit come from? "Did Barton put you up to this?"

She just smiled. "We've been together long enough to know what the other is thinking. He didn't have to."

"That's weird," she commented plainly.

"Some would say that holding your 'friend's' hand while you sleep is weird," she retorted with a raised eyebrow.

"I…" She grunted softly and reluctantly loosened her grip on his hand until it slipped through her fingers. She immediately missed his warmth on her skin. "I was just checking his pulse."

She snorted. "Whatever you say, Melinda. Is that the lie you're sticking with in case he wakes up with you holding him?"

Shit. She hadn't thought of that. If he woke up while she was still asleep and saw that, he would sure as shit get the wrong idea. "It's not a lie," it totally was, as pissed as that made her, "he'll understand after I explain my reasons to him."

"Sure he will," she drawled. "While you're lying to his face, I suggest that you leave out all the crap you've pulled while missing him. He might get mixed messages."

"I'll keep that in mind."

She glanced at her watch and then got up. "Better get dressed and head to briefing. I'll see you later." Before she completely walked away, she added. "For what it's worth, I think you two make a cute couple."

"Fuck you." Natasha barked out a laughed. "Be careful, Natasha," she said with a note of genuine fondness.

"Aren't I always?" Before she could answer, she was gone.

* * *

The team was gone for six days, hitting AIM sleeper cell bases the world over in conjunction with other SHIELD teams. Either Natasha or Phil would call and give her updates, stating that either the inundators were deactivated or weren't there and that they were heading to the next spot. As much as she appreciated being able to watch over Ward, she was getting antsy and guilty that she wasn't out there with her team and rookie.

Worry, restlessness and a desire to not be there when Ward woke up kept Melinda wondering around the Hub from day to day. Doing so allowed her to stay abreast of all the scientific advancements being worked on. The scientists and engineers were all kind enough to explain things to her, giving her plenty to talk to FitzSimmons about when she eventually opened back up to them. Which was going to be sooner rather than later.

Melinda was eating lunch on the sixth day when she received the call from Coulson. Mission accomplished, with only twenty casualties, relatively few compared to how many could have died, and they were coming home. She sighed with relief, but also felt that nagging ping of guilt. She should have been out there. She wanted to be; but she couldn't blame Hand for the call she made. It was the right one, and she didn't have any reason to dispute it.

_Should I go to check on him? _She hadn't been in Ward's room since early that morning. On the one hand, he could have been awake and wondering what was going on. The image of a confused Grant, looking around like a lost kitten elicited a soft chuckle from her. But, on the other, maybe he wasn't and she should have really went to make sure he was okay.

Her first thought was to stay away, but her worry made her reconsider. _Damn, I'm going to regret this._

Her legs carried her to his room more quickly than she was comfortable with. _Slow down. He isn't going anywhere._ It was just going to be like every other day, where she would walk into his room, find him still asleep, and then walk out and find something to do. There was no reason to think or be afraid that things were going to be different.

Her hand touched the doorknob, and stopped when she heard something rustling inside. _Probably just the doctor._ Her first mind told her to leave so they could do their business, but her hand, of seemingly its own volition, pushed down on the door handle. The door opened a crack, but that was all she needed for her heart to stop.

In front of the bed, wearing a black button down and gray slacks that made his ass look fantastic, was Ward. Awake. Awake and not asleep, as he had been for the past week.

Her breath caught loudly, attracting his attention. He turned, saw her, and flashed the most genuine smile she had ever seen from him. Right then, it took all of her strength not to run in and kiss him.

"Hi, May," he said. His voice was full of want. Want for her. She wanted him to.

That was why she closed the door back and walked away.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Two things. One, I think it makes perfect sense for May to have been Natasha's SO when Clint first brought her into SHIELD. Let's make that official fanon. Two, as a straight guy, I don't think that Ward's butt is anything but a butt, but I figured May would like it, hence, it's in there._


	20. Over

_**Over**_

She felt like a total bitch for doing it. She could only imagine his big brown puppy dog eyes, so full of confusion and hurt at her basically turning her back on him. After what he did and had gone through for her. "Dear God, I'm such an asshole," she muttered as she rounded a corner and pressed herself against the wall of an empty corridor.

Why did she do that? What good would it have done anyone? What purpose did it have, other than to show Ward that he had been fucking an ungrateful bitch? That was exactly what she was right then. "I need to go and –"

"There you are, Melinda." Her head tore through the sound barrier as she whipped it around to see who it was. It was only Phil. She hadn't been that happy to see him since he showed up at the Triskelion to recruit her for his team, after she had been told he had died months earlier. He raised an eyebrow. "Everything okay? You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"Ah, I'm fine. Just… thought I heard something."

Phil considered her for a long time before nodding. "Okay, just making sure. I was just heading to debriefing, if you want to sit in."

"Sure I'm allowed?" He gestured for her to follow him, and after weighing her options promptly, she did. Quickly. Phil frowned, but had no trouble keeping up.

"Shouldn't be an issue. Where's the fire?"

"Hm? Oh, just eager to hear what happened."

"Hm. Well, while I have you here, and we have measure of privacy, I wanted to say one final thing about Ward. I know you two are probably going to need a moment soon, but just know that I still trust you, despite what happened last week. I'm trusting you to be able to have that on the side and still be able to perform your duties at the level I'm accustomed to you doing. I'm also trusting you to know when to end it when and if it starts to interfere."

Just like that, Phil gave them his blessing to continue their affair. Exactly what she didn't need right then. "Understood."

"Agent Coulson."

Phil turned around and allowed himself to grin. Melinda stopped but suddenly felt sick.

"Agent Ward. It's good to see you up again," he said while shaking his hand. "May, aren't you glad to see Ward up?" There was a knowing hint in his voice that made her want to smack him.

"Yeah, it is," she muttered quickly.

Ward kept his eyes trained on her, frowning softly. "Debriefing isn't for another ten minutes. Do you two need a minute alone?"

"Yes," Ward said quickly.

"No," Melinda answered at the same time. "We'd better get going. Hate to be late." With that, she all but sprinted down the hall.

Ward kept his eyes on her, his frown deepening. "Sir –"

Phil shook his head. "I don't know."

* * *

He would have to sit next to her during the debriefing. He would have to keep nudging her foot with his, like some lovesick schoolboy. Why did he have to be so cute when trying to get her attention?

The scowl that had become a near permanent fixture on her expression made Hand regard her with slight annoyance. Great, now everyone thought that she was still pissed for being taken off the mission.

His antics and his just being there were making it too hard to concentrate. Whether it was lightly tapping his pen on the table, which she was sure was morse code, or looking away quickly when she glanced at him. His scent, his gloriously delicious scent kept wafting into her nose every time he moved. He smelled like the ocean, one of her favorite scents. It was bad enough that she was having to battle her own desires and wants; having to battle him too was almost too much.

"…if no other comments, dismissed."

When it was over, she couldn't get out of the room fast enough. "May, wait," he called after her, but she didn't, couldn't answer him.

Finding a secluded hallway, she quickly took her vest and shirt off, leaving her in a training bra, and prepared for her Tai Chi. Her heart was still racing and her breathing shaky. His scent, the look in his eyes when he first saw her, everything was still fresh in her head. _Forget everything. Let it all fade away. _Halfway through, she was already feeling relieved. Tension and frustration melted away as she moved her body fluidly, like a river. Her breathing was like a soft, steady breeze, carrying out all the negative energy that had been filling her body and bringing in new, good energy.

She could feel him watching her like a hawk. Not like _the_ Hawk, but intensely, steadily. She felt a shiver run up her spine. _Ignore him,_ she resolved. She kept moving, and he kept watching, drinking in her every movement. She breathed out deliberately, flushing away the heat that had been washing over her.

His shoes clacked softly against the tile floor as he approached her. She breathed out again, adding in a soft sigh. "Why are you watching me?"

"There was a time when you didn't have to ask." He kept approaching, until she felt him only a few feet away. "What's your problem?"

She kept her back to him. She already knew he was running his gaze up and down her curves. She cursed silently again as that realization sent a sensation through her nether region. "My problem?"

"Yeah. You're acting like you don't want me around." She could feel the heat from his body permeating around her. She wanted it, more of it to beat against her.

She sighed. She didn't want him around, because she wanted him to pin here against the wall and take her breath away. She wanted to feel his hardness pressing against her, and his lips pressing against her neck. "Not now," she managed.

"Not now? Melinda…" His hand brushed her tricep, sending jolts through her.

"Not. Now," she said sternly, despite the shiver in her voice.

His hand slid from her arm to her hand, wrapping his fingers around it. Goosebumps prickled up from his touch. "Ward. You have hard head."

He didn't answer, but whipped her around to face him. "You ran off twice when you saw me. Why?"

"Let go of me." Her voice shook. She cursed herself.

Instead of doing so, he gently placed his hand on her other wrist to stop her from leaving. Her breath kept catching. "Answer me and I will."

She stared up at him, into the brown eyes of his and saw things that she didn't want to see. She didn't see lust, she saw warmth and concern. For her. "You want to do this right now?" she said with a hardened voice.

His dipped his head down under their foreheads were touching. She shivered involuntarily. His breath was hot, but so sweet. "Better now than later." Their lips just barely brushed against each other. It was like a jolt of lightning that surged through her entire body. The thrum of her heart was deafening, and it and the rest of body were screaming for her to lean upward just a scant inch. She tried hard to ignore it, but her body's baser instincts were threatening to take control.

"Fine. I ran because I…" Was she really going to tell him the truth, and risk hurting him? Would she risk him finding out how she really feels and becoming more willing to put what they already have on the line by trying to pursue something they both know that they shouldn't even think about? She couldn't. And that was why she lied to his face. "Don't like what would have happened."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Ward, I didn't run, I left. I left because I just don't want to do this anymore." His eyes became clouded with something else she didn't want to see. "I'm just tired of what's been going on."

He swallowed thickly and backed away. His grip became almost nonexistent. "You're… breaking up with me?"

She mustered up the nerve to scoff. "We can't break up. You're just a bedmate. Nothing more." She pretended hard not to see the hurt in his eyes, or to feel the hurt throbbing in her own chest.

He swallowed again, and then let her go. For the briefest of moments, he looked like he was about to cry. If she wasn't so choked up herself, she would have derided him on it. It was gone just that quickly, replaced with a hardened mask that looked like he didn't care about a word she said. "If that's what you want, fine. I'll see you on the Bus."

She tried to say something but she was afraid her quivering voice would give her away. Instead, she turned around and returned to her Tai Chi. She let out a shaky breath. She pretended not to feel the tear trickling down her cheek. She didn't love Grant Ward. He was a bedmate. Nothing more.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ And that concludes this MayWard fanfic._

_Kidding. ;)_


	21. Anger

_**Anger**_

Grant grunted angrily as he laid into the heavy punching bag. He would have loved nothing more than for that bag to have been a real person, someone who could fight back, so he could really have a reason to let loose.

He pretended that the source of his anger was what Rappaccini did to him back at Boca Caliente. An entire week of his life gone; he very nearly didn't have a life to lose a week of, if not for Simmons. He owed the girl a few dinners. Maybe he'd take her out, just to show up May. Wait, what? No, to repay her for what she did. Her being Simmons. He honestly didn't care that she broke up with him, or cut off their relationship or whatever the fuck it was. He honestly didn't. It was getting too risky anyway.

Besides, there were plenty of single ladies around SHIELD who could jabs stood to partake in a casual sexual relationship with a single Level Seven Specialist. She didn't want him anymore, fine. Fuck her. Fuck her hard. On top of a soft mattress inside a hotel room so she could scream as loud as he could make her. _God, I want you, Meli – _He cut himself off by punching the bag again.

She didn't have to be such a bitch about it. He swore, it was like everything she said had to feel like a dozen red hot daggers out of nowhere. She didn't even know the definition of the word tact, and… and… it hurt. What she said hurt, and he didn't know why.

Well, he did, but he wasn't going to admit it. Especially not now after being emasculated by her. Just a bedmate, she said. He should have marched into that cockpit, drug her into her bunk and showed her how a bedmate voiced their displeasure. But no. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she got to him.

"Agent Ward," Coulson called from behind him. He sighed and halted his punching.

"Yes?"

"I have some good news. I just got off the phone with Director Fury. He though it a good idea to give us a week's reprieve, starting now. We'll be landing at the SHIELD base in Nevada in a few hours."

It was literally music to Grant's ears. Even though he missed most of the mission, it was still a rough week for him. "That… that sound great. Though, I won't be stepping foot into Vegas, if that's what you're insinuating."

Coulson smiled. "I hear May has a place out of the way. Maybe she'll let you stay there."

His expression almost soured. The last thing he wanted to be anywhere near her or anything that belonged to her. "Nah. I guess I'll find a hotel somewhere. Besides, I doubt she'll let me anywhere near her place."

"You're probably right. Still, wouldn't hurt to ask."

He shrugged. "Where are you head to?" he asked in a desperate bid to change the subject.

"Portland. I have some business up there to see about."

Grant didn't bother to ask him what he meant and followed him to the bunks to pack.

* * *

They touched down thirty miles outside of Las Vegas hours later. Grant, duffle bag in hand, walked down the ramp to the assortment of cars lined up for their choosing. He chose an ivory Mercedes and threw his bag into the back. He looked up and saw May climbing into a sleek red Lamborghini. Goddamn it, she was so beautiful. Her black hair was straightened out and draped over on shoulder of her loose black blouse. Her white pants hugged her hips closely, drawing his eyes to their shapely figure. He couldn't take his eyes off of her.

She also looked up, and they made eye contact. Grant's heart jumped around in his chest, and for a few moments, he wanted to ask if he could go wherever she was going.

But he didn't. Because he wasn't some lovesick sap who would crawl on hands and knees for the woman he loved. He had pride, dammit.

He nodded once curtly climbed into the driver's seat. He sighed and gripped the wheel tightly as he watched her move into the car. _Why is she so beautiful? And why can't I let her go? _Grant was pondering over that question for the entire time he was on the road. The empty desert road provided much time to let his mind wonder without fear of accident.

He was hurt by her words. But why was he hurt? If what she said was true, if they were only bedmates, as intended all along, then it shouldn't have mattered that she decided to end things. It shouldn't have made him as angry as it did, as hurt as it did. But it did, and he feared he knew why.

The words were right on the tip of his tongue, goading him to be a man and face the truth.

It wasn't supposed to happen. Really, the first warning flag should have been when they slept together that second time. Once was enough to allow him to work out his frustrations. The second time was just them taking a leap into the unknown together and hoping that it didn't end up badly.

But it did. It did end up badly, and it was too late for them to the way things were. Things would forever be marred by the first time he pushed himself inside of her. He wanted to feel that, to feel her so badly and only felt angrier that he couldn't.

He threw his bag onto the bed of his cheap hotel room and flopped onto the bed. The partially white ceiling was foxed in some areas and stained in others. The ugly floral wallpaper design made his eyes hurt. That was fine; he didn't plan on spending much time sober, anyway.

_"_I love her," he said with so much disgust toward himself that he felt like he was going to be ill. How? When? Of all the times for him to realize this, it would have to be now, when there was nothing he could do about it. It was even worse, since he didn't even want to call and tell her how he felt. It wasn't fair, as immature as that sounded.

His phone made a noise. It was a text from none other than May. First Coulson, now this. It was like the world was rubbing it in his face. He checked it and sighed. _"Call me." _

"What the hell do you want, Melinda?" he asked, wincing at the amount of rancor in his voice. He touched his phone and brought her number up. His thumb hovered over the call button, but backed out and turned the screen off instead. He didn't want to hear whatever she had to say, at least not while sober.

Breaking up was painful to do. And the only thing to calm that pain was a tall glass of whisky and sad country music. He looked at the bottle, and frowned when she wasn't sitting at the table, waiting for him to crack it open. He hated this, the control she had over him.

He opened the bottle and poured himself a glass. Time to wash it all away.


	22. Sick

_**Sick**_

When she saw him right before they went their separate ways for their reprieve, she immediately wished that she had a time machine so she could stop herself from ending things. Him, with his hair messy and in his suave leather jacket; she was getting hot just thinking about it. She was such an idiot. That was the one thing that she kept thinking during the drive to her home in the SHIELD housing complex two miles from the base. She was an idiot.

She felt his eyes on her as she climbed into her car. She knew he was looking, he always looked when she did things that flaunted her body. She was hoping that he would have climbed in the car with her and ignored her half-hearted protests to get out, or at least followed her to her house to drag her into the nearest bedroom to ravage her for hours on in while she screamed his name at the top of her lungs.

God, she was such an idiot. She could hardly believe that he let her get away with it. He was always so stubborn when it came to her. Well, not so much stubborn as just unwilling to fall for her crap. So why fall for this? Of all the lies she had told him in regards to her feeling toward him, why believe this one? Why wouldn't he flash that adorably smug smirk of his and say something witty that made her heart thrum in his chest?

She had desperately wanted him to. She wanted to stop him and apologize and hold him close and say that she was sorry for everything, but her own pride stopped her cold.

Was it even pride?

Or was it fear?

Fear of what? Letting him get closer than anyone not named Philip Coulson had ever gotten? That loving someone would make her lose the cold edge she had worked so hard to build? Make her vulnerable?

She was Melinda May; she wasn't afraid of anything.

Maybe that was the problem. Still, Melinda and the Cavalry were intertwined together, even though she had worked so hard to drive a wedge between the two. Even if it was gone, locked away in a little box deep in the recesses of her mind, only just now unleashed for a little while, it still influenced her. After all these years, she still allowed that part of her to determine what her gentler half did.

It was a part of her, but it wasn't. _It_didn't do love or romance. _It_ wasn't afraid of anything. _It_ was keeping her from admitting her love for Ward in fear of losing its edge. And she was sick of it. Sick of the lies, sick of the masochistic attitude she had taken of wanting him but not allowing herself to have him. Sick of lying in her bed alone, when all common sense screamed that he should have been right next to her.

She threw her duffle bag on the floor and flopped onto her bed. "I need a drink."

She thought, for a brief moment, about calling him and trying to talk with him. She shut that down almost immediately. There was no way she could expect him to even answer, let alone listen to a word she would say. She saw his face. She could read the emotion playing on his face like a book. There was no way any self-respecting man would hear her out after she tore their heart out like that.

Even if he did answer her call, what would she even say? Tell him the truth? Apologize? Would he even believe her? She groaned loudly and banged her head on the pillow beneath her. "Goddammit." She pulled her phone out of her pocket and scrolled to his number. The smiling face in his id picture made her stomach twist into a hundred knots. She already missed him and felt so terrible for what happened.

Her finger lightly touched the picture, and right then she resolved to make matters right. He might not have wanted to start things over, but she wasn't going to let this drive a wedge between them. _"Call me,"_ she wrote in a text message. Her finger hovered over the send button for what seemed like five minutes before finally sending it through.

She sighed heavily. If he needed his space, her sending a message would allow him time to get his head together before contacting her. _If_ he contacted her.

_It's gonna be a while._ She knew that to be true, but then couldn't explain why she kept checking her inbox every five minutes, if that. Every time it read 0 messages, which was every time, she felt a small ping of disappointment. "Freaking kidding me." She stood from the bed, making sure to leave her phone behind, and walked into the front of the house.

It was a simple one-story home. Barren of furniture, but still felt cozy. The furniture that was there was simplistic in design, but elegant in feel. Just like here. Various pictures of her, her family and friends, and Coulson occupied various places along the wall along with a large flatscreen. Generic plants and flowers gave the rooms a homely feel that she desperately needed.

"Needs a good cleaning," she said after walking around each room with an appraising eye. She pulled some cleaning supplies from the kitchen sink and put on a pair of rubber gloves.

Of all the things she thought she would do to keep her mind off of Ward, cleaning her relatively clean house was somewhere near the bottom. But she couldn't shoot at a range that wasn't there, she would do Tai Chi later, and it did kind of need a good cleaning.

Hours of scrubbing, wiping, dusting and vacuuming kept her mind off of everything. While she could see the therapeutic benefits, she couldn't understand how some people did this every day.

She was just about finished wiping down her kitchen sink when her phone rang. She hurried out of the kitchen and vaulted over the sofa to get to it in time. "Coming!" she announced as she dove onto the bed and put it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hi, Melinda."

It was only Phil. A wave of bitter disappointment swept over her. Her voice was drenched in it. "Hello, Phil."

She could hear him frown. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Yes."

"Ah. Tell Ward I'm sorry. I'll call back later."

She sighed. "I was cleaning up, Phil."

He laughed. "Now, now. No need to tell me any of the details. Just make sure he wraps his too-"

"My kitchen. I was cleaning up in the kitchen," she answered, becoming agitated.

"Wow, you two just do it anywhere with a flat surface, don't you?" He laughed again.

"Phil. He isn't here. Stop insinuating."

"He isn't?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

_Don't tell me you were rooting for us, too._ "He's not. We… I broke it off."

"Really? This have anything to do with what I said to you earlier? Because it was true."

"Kind of. I… just couldn't handle it anymore. I didn't want a repeat of what happened with Rappaccini in case he gets hurt badly again."

He sighed heavily. She heard a rustling, like moving through bedsheets, and then him whispering something to someone beside him. "So, you do have feelings for him," he stated after a moment.

"No, I don't. I just… got tired of what we were doing." She ran a hand through her hair. She hoped he would believe her and just drop it.

"I don't believe you. You wouldn't have acted the way you did if this was just a sex thing. Which it never is, by the by."

Damn it. "I was just worried about my teammate."

"So was I. And Fitz, and Simmons and Skye. We all were, but we didn't fly off the handle like you did. Discounting AIM, you've been pretty cold to the others as of late. Don't think I haven't noticed. That, plus your shows of affection toward Ward at the medical ward, glaring at that nurse who, by your words, 'was looking at him for too long', pretty much monopolizing all of the visitation time." She was grinding her teeth together. Something inside her chest felt like it was going to burst. "Jealousy. Affection. Panic when he's hurt, and you lashed out because you didn't have any other way to cope with it."

Her lip was quivering, and she bit down on it. The very last vestige of her pride were fighting it with all it might, but it was quickly becoming too much. "Stop."

"Why, because I'm right? Just say it and you'll beep better. Trust me."

"There's nothing to say, because I don't have feelings for him." Those words were nigh impossible to say at this point. It was a chore just to think them; saying them felt impossible.

"You're lying. Say it, Melinda."

Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone? Why couldn't he just leave her to her delusions and continue to lie to herself. It was working out just time, right?

"Say it, May. Say it."

"I…" She stopped herself. Her shoulders slumped. This wasn't supposed to happen. "I love him." And suddenly, her shoulders rose again. It literally felt like a weight, a burden, had been lifted off of her shoulders. She felt enlightened. "I love him" she repeated, this time much more easily. "Happy now?"

"Feel better?"

"God, yes," she exclaimed while throwing herself back onto the bed. How could she have gone so long without telling herself the truth? Why did she go so long without telling herself the truth?

"I'm glad, really. I want you to be happy, Melinda. Now, just tell him that and then go from there."

"I said some pretty shitty things to him, so I doubt he'll listen long enough for me to tell him." She sighed. She would have to pick right now, after she already broke things off with him to admit to herself, finally, that she cared about him more than she had been letting on. Why did she do that, again?

"Give him a day or so, then call him. Or who knows, maybe he's going through the same thing and will call you. Just make sure he knows before the week is out. I don't want what will inevitably follow happening on my Bus."

A faint smile played across her lips. "_Your_ Bus?"

"Yes, _my_ Bus. Don't forget whose name is on the lease, May."

She rolled her eyes, but the smile grew a little. "Thank you, Phil, for being an annoying nuisance."

"Thank you, Melinda, for being so obstinant. Your stubbornness has inspired me to make sure I came up to Portland to handle my own business. Thanks to you, I'm having a great time, with more greatness to come."

"Well, I'm oh so glad I could help you get laid, Phil. Don't be a fool, wrap your tool." She smiled at his silly chuckle.

"Always. Take care."

"You, too." She hung up and checked her messages. There was one from Ward. _"Missing me already, babe?"_

She had to read it three times just to make sure her eyes were working correctly. There was so much wrong with this message, and yet, despite how angry she wanted to get, she couldn't stop her heart from fluttering. He wasn't wrong. She was missing him. But she couldn't admit that this soon. She was going to admit her feelings for him, but no way in hell was she letting on just how badly he got to her. It was bad.


	23. Brawl

_**A/N: **__This chapter was a lot of fun to write._

_**Brawl**_

He absolutely could not believe he sent that to Melinda May.

It was the whiskey. Definitely the whiskey. No way he would say that while sober. It was weird. He had only taken in a single a glass, mostly due to the fact that whiskey was her hard liquor of choice. He wasn't this much of a lightweight that he could get drunk off of one glass. But that was what happened.

He had decided, in the hours since first receiving her message, to walk to the bar, bottle in hand, to drown his sorrow and disappointment away. That gained him many disapproving, unimpressed looks from the locals. Apparently bringing his own beer was frowned upon.

Maybe he got contact drunk from being around so many other drunks. Was that even possible? Even if it wasn't, it had to be a possible explanation.

_'Missing me already, babe?' _What was he thinking? He would have been shocked if she didn't demand his location so she could shove her boot up his ass. He frowned and downed another glassful of whiskey in one gulp. The amber liquid poured down his throat, leaving a hot burning sensation in its wake. The face he made, which was actually a normal reaction, gained him a few jeers and taunting laughs from the corner opposite him. He ignores the idiots and poured himself another glass.

Another shot was downed easily, the burning becoming slightly lessened. He sighed and poured himself another glass. He jumped and nearly messed up his pour when his phone went off. His heart jumped when he saw it was May. _God, how pissed is she?_ He downed the shot and went to check it.

_"I want to talk with you." _He sighed again. She didn't sound upset, for as much as he could tell through a text message.

_"I'm drinking," _he replied. He downed another shot, and didn't get to pour another before she replied. He smirked. She must have really missed him if she was replying this quickly.

_"Where?"_

He rolled his eyes. _"A near, sure the fuck else would i ne?"_ He smirked again, enjoying the small victory he thought he gained with his reply. He downed his drink and took a small glance at the guys who kept taunting him. They were still going at it and it was starting to piss him off.

_"You're drunk."_

He scoffed. _"Lolololol. That's what happens when people drink. You know that ;)" _Thank God for autocorrect. He downed another four shots in quick succession and almost fell out of his chair.

_"I'm well aware. Which bar are you in?"_

He shakily downed his second shot in row before responding. Or trying to. He took a minute to try to remember the name of the bar. Broken Angel, he believed. _"The brikjen amfel."_

_"?"_

He squinted to read the message. What were those, question marks? How could she not understand what he said? _"I said the brikem amfel."_

_"The Broken Angel?"_

_"Thats what i sais."_

_"You're so drunk."_

He imagined her laughing and smiled, and then guffawed unabashedly. _"Am nit." _The men across from him grumbled loudly.

_"Are too."_

_"Youre drunk."_

_"That was easily the clearest thing you've said."_

He fell into a uncontrollable giggling fit, earning the attention of the men across from him. _"Im nit dunk."_

_"I found you. I'm on my way to collect you, so hang tight." _

He kept giggling, much to the annoyance of the men across from him. The four of them got up. Grant noticed them walking toward him and sighed loudly. _"Hamg tight sexy gotsta fight some guys."_

_"What?! Don't do anything until I get there."_

Unfortunately, her sound advice went unheeded, as he had already rose to his feet to confront them. There were only four of them. The one at the fore was stocky, bald and had cannons for arms. He wasn't wearing a shirt, but had a leather vest on instead. The two next to him were lanky twins, both blonde with sculpted goatees. They were wearing vests like the first one. The largest one was obviously older, favoring his right knee and sporting a scar along his right cheek. His long black hair and beard were peppered with gray hair. "Hey there, guys. How can I help you fellas?"

"You can help by shutting the fuck up with your damn laughing!" the largest one said.

"Yeah," one of the twins agreed, "we can't drink if you keep bothering us!"

Grant laughed, deliberately. "Sorry, was just talking with this girl I'm fucking. Couldn't help myself." Good thing May wasn't there; she probably wouldn't have liked that.

Neither did their leader, Baldy McVest. He sneered up at the bigger Grant. "Fucking, huh? Maybe I'll beat your ass, then go and give her a real fucking. Good and hard. How d'ya like tha–"

Normally, Grant would have laughed that off and walked away. Normally, Grant would have let it go and left before the situation hit a boiling point. He, unfortunately, wasn't his normal self. His fist blurred until it contacted McVest's chin. Baldy tumbled back and crashed through a table behind him. "No!" Grant yelled drunkenly. "Only I can fuck Melinda! Not you!" The twins flew into action and grabbed Grant, one on each arm.

He struggled against the two tall, but lanky men, and managed to cause one to trip over a chair. Arm free, he punched then other twin repeatedly until blood was flowing down his face.

"Aw hell naw!" The old man, Oldbeard the Pirate, charged Grant and drove him through a table.

Grant groaned and elbowed Oldbeard in the face before smashing two beer bottles over his head. A third one shattered over his head, and he was out.

By that point, the twin who had tripped, Thing One, was already up and kicked him in the chest while he was trying to stand. McVest was up too, and together they lifted him up and threw him through another table. "Take him outside!" the bartender demanded.

McVest smirked and picked him up with the help of Thing Two. They threw him through the door and into the parking lot. Grant rolled to his feet and landed a strong punch into Thing One's crotch. He elbowed him repeatedly in the face into he sagged to the ground.

"You sonova –!" Thing Two charged him and threw a haymaker that missed badly. Grant ducked under McVest and backhanded him in the side of the face before spear tackling the rangy man into a car. He groaned as Grant stood and kicked him in the face.

"Bastard!" McVest charged him, missed a badly telegraphed punch and nearly keeled over when Grant laid a heavy punch into his stomach.

Even in his drunken state, he was still a trained combatant. A talented one, at that. He bobbed and weaved, albeit sloppily, around his punches and countered with well placed jabs and timely knees. Baldy McVest stood no chance and was out cold in a few punches.

"Fuck yeah!" he roared in triumph. "I won! I wo-" He stumbled back and fell on his butt. "Only I can fuck you, Melinda." The sound of a smooth, quiet engine pulled up into the parking lot, attracting the attention of those who had congregated outside to watch what they thought was going to be a three on one beatdown. Moving so much had his head swimming like a raging river. Nausea washed over him, making him feel like throwing up.

A pair of boots stepped down on either side of him, and a sweet smelling woman bent down over him. He grinned. "Heeeey, Mindy May. What'cha doing here?"

Melinda sighed. "Can you stand and walk?"

"I can do a lot more than walk, baby. I can – Ow!"

She thumped him in the nose and stood up. "Stand up and get in the car before the cops show up."

"I'll get in you," he muttered loudly. He rolled over and gingerly rose up. Everything was spinning like a top, making him squeeze his eyes shut and held his eyes. "Ah, shit."

"Come on," she said while leading him to the passenger side of the Lamborghini. He easily tumbled inside, and she quickly jumped in the driver's side and sped off, moments before a pair of police cars showed up.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"I… I was thinking about beating the shit outta some guy talking shit about you. I'm not havin' that." He groaned and touched his head lightly. His head was already felt like it was going to split wide open.

"No. You weren't thinking. You're a SHIELD agent, Ward. You have to conduct yourself professionally all the times. What if a fellow agent was in that bar and saw you? You have to –"

"Blabbity blah blah blah. You know how pretty your lips are when you're runnin' your mouth?" He reached over to try and touch them, but she slapped his hand away. He laughed.

"I'm going to chalk that up to you being drunk."

"No, you can chalk it up to me defending your honor," he said as sensibly as he could.

"I don't need you to. I don't want you to. You should've waited for me to get there and then pointed him out. I defend my own honor."

He frowned. In his drunken stupor, he could still tell that she was upset. "I… I just thought…"

"Why? Why would you think that I'd want that?"

Sober, he wouldn't have answered, or just lied. Drunk, he said the first thing that came to mind, which was, unfortunately, the truth. "Because I love you," he blurted before he could stop himself. She didn't say anything, but he heard her gasp softly. "I love you, Melinda."

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. "I… better get you to my place," she mumbled.

He smiled. "I love you so much," he repeated for a third time, softly. The words just poured out of his mouth as easily as the whiskey did earlier. He smiled sleepily and softly touched her face. The last thing he saw before passing out was the fond smile touching her lips. She said something, but he was out before he could realize what it was.


	24. Stay

_**Stay**_

"Shit shit shit shit shit."

Melinda had just dumped Ward, who was so heavy for some reason, on her sofa after picking him up from that bar. He was drunk, and much like a drunk bastard, he got himself in a bar fight. Sure, he kicked ass, but he totally embarrassed himself. He embarrassed their team, SHIELD. Her.

Defending her honor, her ass.

And yet, despite how utterly humiliating Ward getting into a bar fight was, and she had no intention of telling Coulson, that was hardly the thing that had her worked up.

He said he loved her. Yes, he was drunk, but he said it. Three times.

She wanted to pretend that it was because he was drunk. Every drunk said 'I love you' to everyone, right? That was how being drunk worked, right? She was sure he wouldn't remember in the morning, which was why she said she loved him back. He wouldn't remember, so she felt no hesitation about saying it.

It felt good. It felt liberating to finally get that final burden off her shoulders, at least temporarily. The only problem was the reason she said it in the first place. He wouldn't remember, meaning that she was going to have to tell him again when he was sober. That was going to be a lot harder than it seemed. He was going to be angry with her again; upset and hurt by what she said and he might not have wanted to listen to her.

She looked down at him. Long limbs in a tangled mess on her sofa, body twisted in a way that couldn't have possibly been comfortable, and yet, there he was, sound asleep. If he wasn't snoring so loudly, she would have thought he looked somewhat cute. Like a large, drunk baby.

She went to a closet and pulled out a spare blanket and pillow, and then adjusted him into something resembling a proper sleeping position. On his side, so he wouldn't choke to death on his own alcohol induced vomit. Before she went to bed herself, she glanced down at him again and smiled. So peaceful. She leaned down and placed a small kiss on his forehead, and then left to get some sleep. It was going to be a long day tomorrow.

* * *

She awoke the next morning to the faint patter of the shower in her guest bathroom. He must have been up, and using the shower. She smiled lightly as a brief image of his hard body soaking wet, hands running down his tight muscles, fingers teasing through his slick wet hair, all in a bid to get as clean as he could. Because he was dirty; a dirty boy who needed a spanking for being so naughty last night.

Where did _that_ come from?

She shook her head and climbed out of bed to wash up. If she finished in time, she may have been able to just so happen to be by the bathroom to catch him in one of her undoubtedly too-small towels.

Unfortunately, she didn't get out in time. He was a quick dresser and was already walking toward the door by the time she stepped out of the bathroom. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"Leaving," he replied tersely. Great, he was just as sore toward her as she feared he'd be. "Thanks for collecting me." He reached for the doorknob and unlocked the door.

She couldn't let him leave without her telling him how she felt. Not when she had such a golden opportunity right there and then. "Wait. Don't you want some breakfast?"

"Nope." He opened the door.

"Wait. I didn't have a chance to get your car, and you're not taking mine."

"I'll walk."

"It's five miles."

"I'll walk," he repeated, with a note of annoyance.

"At least take a clean shirt, and I'll wash that one." She saw him look down and notice the splashes of blood decorating his white T-shirt.

He sighed. "Fine." He took the shirt he was wearing off, and she had to fight hard not to look at his abdomen. She failed and soaked it all in. She didn't see him throw the shirt in her direction and it landed on her head. "Got one in my size?" She could hear the faint note of amusement.

"Um, yes. Hang on." She only had one, which belonged to Coulson, so she wasn't sure if it was going to fit. And she was sure he wouldn't like some other guy wearing his shirt, but oh well. She returned with a navy blue Boston Red Sox shirt.

He caught it with a raised eyebrow.

"It's Coulson's. Don't ask. I'll get this in the wash."

She took her sweet time dumping his shirt, and others like it into her washing machine. She couldn't afford to let him slip through her fingers.

"I'll pick it up later," he said.

"Wait. You should really eat something. It's a long walk in the middle of the desert." She waited nervously for him to answer.

"Fine." He stomped into the kitchen and slumped into a chair by the kitchen table.

She frowned and turned on the washing machine. It really did seem like he didn't want to be there, which hurt a lot worse than she was willing to let on. "While I have you here," she said as she stuck a breakfast sandwich into the microwave, "I'd like to thank you for saving me last week. I really appreciate it."

"You're faster than I am, and a better fighter, plus you had more weapons readily available to you the time. It was a sound tactical decision," he said, deadpan.

"Yes, well… thanks anyway." She went to pour both him and herself as glass of orange juice, and then pulled his sandwich from the microwave. "It isn't much, but…" She trailed off when she saw his face. She sighed internally. _This had better be worth it._ When she slid the plate down in front of him, and he immediately reached for it, she smiled and let her hand linger on his. It tense visibly before pulling away.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." She innocently took a sip of juice after sitting across from him.

"Look. Whatever game you're playing here, May, stop."

"No one's playing in games, Ward. I'm just making sure you don't pass out from the walk you have ahead of you."

He looked at her with cold eyes for a long time before nodding. She hadn't seen him look at her that way since he found out she yelled at Skye all those months ago. It made what she wanted to talk about all the more difficult. "What did you want to talk about?" he inquired quietly after finishing his sandwich.

The question caught her off guard, even though she had been spending the last few minutes wondering how she was going to answer it. "I, uh, what?"

"You texted yesterday saying you wanted me to call you. I didn't. Now I'm here, so what did you want?" His tone was short and clipped, professional. It almost bordered impatient and terse, which wasn't surprising.

"Oh. I just wanted to talk about what I said to you at the Hub." His eyes darkened. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things." They didn't soften. "I understand that my words upset you and –"

"I already told you, if that's what you want, I'm okay with that."

It was a testimate to his lying skills that she couldn't immediately notice that he wasn't telling the truth. She sighed. "I know, I remember. The thing is…" Here it was. This was where she was going to start letting him know about her feelings. "It was all a lie."

She lowered her head out of shame, but she could just barely see him staring at her. Minutes passed by, and neither of them moved. She was sure he hadn't blinked. She wanted to just blurt everything out, but she needed to make sure he was with her.

He wasn't.

He breathed out an annoyed scoff and stood. "Thanks for breakfast," he said without ever looking at her.

"Grant."

He stopped midway to the front door. It was a rarity for her to ever use his first name; usually only for times of comfort or… other things.

"Keep the shirt." With that, she couldn't say anything until his heavy footsteps disappeared behind the slammed shut door.

"Goddamn it." That had failed completely. The whole point was to keep him there long enough for her to explain herself, and she failed completely. Any future she may have had with him just waltzed out door, never to be pursued again, because there was no way he would have feelings for someone who would lie to his face while dumping him.

She sighed helplessly.

It was all over. Just when she was ready to admit everything to herself and him, it was all over.

"You blew it, May. You really blew it."

* * *

Hours passed, but she had lost all motivation to do anything that required more energy that sitting on her ass. She managed to get a hold of the bartender for the Broken Angel and convinced him not to press charges for disorderly conduct on Grant. Thankfully, she was well known there, so there was no trouble.

She considered calling Coulson and telling him that it was a complete failure, but no need fucking up both her and _his_ love life.

For the rest of the day, she sat around and did nothing. Well, not exactly; she did meditate, which made her feel a little better, but not by much.

She listened to the pitter-patter of the heavy rain drops falling and crashing on the ceiling. It was calming, in a way. It put Ward out of her mind, for a little bit, and replaced him with an empty serenity, one she had been missing on the Bus. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift away, not to Ward or Coulson or anything else, but peaceful things.

She nearly fell asleep, but managed to jolt awake before she drifted off fully. It was time for her to get some real sleep, being around midnight. She stood and walked toward the bedroom. Stopping at the dryer along the way, she opened it and pulled out Grant's clean white shirt. It was the closet she would ever get to him, and he did say she could keep it.

After pulling off her clothes, she slipped the shirt on along with a pair of small shorts. It was huge on her, coming down to her knees and looking not unlike a dress. She saw herself in the mirror and gave herself a little laugh. Alas, this was the only way she'd be able to sleep in Ward's shirts. It was a shame; he had some really nice shirts. They all looked so comfortable.

She had been sound asleep when she was suddenly ripped from her slumber by the accursed chimes of her doorbell. "…damn piece of shit," she muttered sleepily. She tore the sheets from off of her and glanced at her clock. 4:29 AM. Whoever it was was about to have their head shoved up their ass.

The doorbell rung again, and she all but tore the door off its hinges. It was still pouring down raining, and Ward was standing in it, soaking wet and exhausted. "Ward?"

"I need a… I gotta… uh, can I…" She stared through a curtain of sleep tussled hair as he blearily pointed to her sofa.

"Did you kill someone?" He shook his head, and she nodded. "Come on." She turned to go back to bed as he dragged himself through the doorway and closed it behind him. "Get kicked out of your hotel?"

"Left. Had a… change of heart." He took his clothes off and caught the towel she threw him. "Is that my shirt?"

She didn't take her eyes off of him as he dried himself off. He noticed this. "Yeah."

"Looks good on you." He rifled through his bag until he pulled pulled out a pair of sweats. He slipped them on with a shirt and then followed her into the bedroom.

She didn't try to stop him. Nor did she try and stop him when he climbed into her bed and slid under her sheets. For as much as she lamented blowing her one shot at him, getting another one was a godsend. She wasn't about to do anything to ruin it. She smiled softly and laid down with her back to him. She would talk to him in the morning and confess everything. Now, she was just going to enjoy finally having him next to her.


	25. Truth

_**A/**__N This is officially the longest story I've written on the site. Thanks, guys :)_

_**Truth**_

Whether it was because he waited so late at night and she was just too tired too question anything he tried or not, he had managed to sneak into bed with her. He didn't know why exactly he suddenly changed his mind about her. He was angry after he finally made it back to his hotel room. About everything. Her, her words, which were apparently lies, and then her trying to weasel her way back into his heart. Admittedly, his heart leaped when her hand touched his that morning, meaning she hadn't ever left it. Still, admitting that she had lied to his face when breaking things off with him angered him even more.

He didn't understand this woman, at all. And that was what really compelled him to stick it through with her. He wanted to get her. She was an enigma wrapped up in a mystery in the form of a beautiful woman, and he found everything about that he heard about her fascinating. He wanted to find out everything about her.

Like why she felt the need to lie to him that morning. He knew that she wasn't the romantic type, or even the affectionate type; and yet, there she was, touching him and desperately trying to get him to stay. But, instead of just telling him straight up, she obfuscated her true intentions behind a veil of false mundanity.

It was cute.

It was her lie at the Hub that brought him back. It angered him even more that he was thinking about it and her as much as he did, but it was nagging him the whole time he was walking back to his hotel room. Why lie and break his heart? Was the truth just as, if not more, devastating? Who was she protecting, him or herself? If herself, then why?

It was those types of questions that made him restless and kept him pacing the floor of his small hotel room. Up until about an hour ago, he tried to content and leave well enough alone, but his mind and heart wouldn't let him. He tried to sleep, but tossed and turned for hours before giving up. He checked out and drove the ten minutes to her house. At four in the morning, in the pouring rain, he was at her door, hoping she would let him in.

She did, and he pretended to be exhausted, which wasn't hard at all, and managed to slip into her bed.

But, even lying next to her in her ridiculously comfortable bed, with her looking so good in his T-shirt, it was still nagging him. He was never going to get any sleep at this rate. He was facing her back, so reaching his arm around and placing his hand on her taut stomach wasn't any issue. He sighed contently. It seemed like an eternity since he had touched her. It brought a fluttering in his stomach that only she could make him feel. "May," he whispered in her ear. When she didn't respond, he tickled her stomach. "May?"

She squirmed into him, making his stomach flutter. "What?" she mumbled.

"Are you asleep?"

"Yes."

He smiled softly and held her a little closer. "Then how are you answering me?"

"I'm sleep talking. What is it?"

He had her attention, half anyway. Now all he had to do was get her to tell him the truth. But, how, when she had shown herself willing to lie so easily? Here went nothing, "Why did you say those things at the Hub, then try to get back with me two days later?"

"Because I like you, Ward. Good night."

He heart thumped around in his chest. Was it just sleep-idled crazy talk, or did she really mean it? His smile grew a little. He thought she meant what she said this time. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Didn't know how. Good night."

"You could have just told me. …I like you, too." And suddenly, he felt so much better for finally getting that off of his chest.

"Fantastic. Good night."

He sighed and nuzzled into her neck. "You know, it's kind of funny how neither of us knew how to tell the other how we felt."

"Ward?"

"Yes, May?"

"What part of 'good night' don't you understand?"

He chuckled quietly. "It's 5:15, so it's technically not night."

"Grant?"

"Yes, Melinda?"

"Shut up and go to sleep."

That brought a fond smile to his lips. He pressed them to her jawline and kissed her softly. "Okay. Good night." He didn't miss the smile that gesture brought to her lips.

* * *

Grant awoke later that morning, around nine, to find Melinda not in bed. He frowned, but knew that she was around somewhere, so he got up and went to wash up. Their quasi conversation early that morning was still fresh in his mind. He still couldn't believe that she had feelings for him all this time.

Everything suddenly made sense. The flirting, her continuing to sleep with him, her lying at the Hub, her leaving him as soon as she saw that he was awake. She didn't know how to properly explain herself. It was so adorable.

He got dressed and walked into the kitchen, where he found Melinda pouring some juice into a glass. "Morning," he greeted. He still liked how good she looked in his shirt.

"Morning. Sleep well?"

He smirked at the slightly bitter tone in her voice. "Like a baby. You?" His smirk widened when she glared at him.

"Can't say I did, thanks to someone. I'm not naming names, though."

"Sorry. I wasn't going to get to sleep until I found out the truth."

"So, you interrupt my sleep twice just so you could get to sleep. How is that fair?" He looked at her intently and determined that, yes, she was indeed pouting. "What?"

"You are so, so very precious, Agent May," he replied while approaching slowly. When he reached her, he wrapped her arms around her waist and pulled her close.

"Precious. Do you want to lose consciousness, Agent Ward?"

"Will you be here when I come to?"

"I'm not going anywhere unless I have to." She placed her glass on the counter and then melted into his embrace.

Seeing her being affectionate while also being her normally ornery self was both jarring and amusing. He couldn't until it became the new norm for him. "Sounds like a plan to me. This place is pretty nice."

"SHIELD knows how to take care of their agents."

"So do I," he said coyly, adding, "Well, one in particular."

One of her elegantly sculpted eyebrows rose on amused curiosity. "Hm, is that so? Tell me, how would you take care of this agent?"

He unwrapped her and led her by the hand out of the kitchen and onto the sofa. He flopped down first, and then pulled her into his lap. "First, I'd treat this particular agent to a home-cooked meal, her favorite dish, of course. Wine, candles, soft music, everything. Then, I'd dance with her to the music for a little while. And then, when she complains that her feet hurt, I'll take her over to the sofa and give her a foot massage. After that… who knows, but I'm hoping it'll end on a high note."

She looked at him pointedly and smirked. "Are you asking me out on a date, Ward?"

"That depends. Would you say yes?"

She pursed her lips, and he had to fight to resist the urge to kiss her right then. "I suppose I couldn't say no to a free dinner and foot massage."

He nodded. "Then, yes, I am asking you out."

"Sure. Let's see how you do. Tonight, I assume."

"If you're free, then yeah, tonight is good."

"I'll have to check with my personal assistant, but I'm thinking I'm free. You _do_ know what my favorite dish is, right?"

"Of course I do," he didn't, "shouldn't be too hard to make."

"I hope you don't have trouble with it. It's so difficult, after all."

He scoffed, but inwardly was starting to panic. "Please, I'm a pretty good chef. It'll taste just like it would in a restaurant."

"You have no idea what my favorite food is, do you?" When he slumped his shoulders defeatedly, she laughed. It was a beautiful laugh that his stomach twisting into knots. "Surprise me. I think I can trust your tastes."

"Sounds like a plan. So, I'll… see you tonight." She nodded and then leaned in to do something, but pulled back. In doing so, their lips brushed together. Electric sparks ran up his spine. His cheeks reddened slightly as he watched her stand and walk away. _God, she's amazing._

For Melinda, he had to make sure everything went perfect. She probably wouldn't accept any less.

Maybe.


	26. Date

_**Date**_

Time passed and Melinda found herself becoming more and more intrigued by what Grant was planning for later that night. He had been in the kitchen for almost three hours, stirring, mixing and chopping anything and everything that he had in his hands. It was smelling good, whatever it was. Occasionally, she poked her head in to see what he was doing, but she never got a good look before he shooed her away.

She couldn't help but smile. Seeing him running around her kitchen, hands flying over most of her utensils, multiple pots and pans occupying the eyes on her oven, one would have thought that he was on one of those cooking competitions. But no, he was just trying to make dinner for her.

It was sweet. The last man to cook dinner for her in this sense was Coulson. Now, there was a man who could command a kitchen. Whether Ward had the same attention to detail as he did or not remained to be seen, but he certainly had the sense of urgency.

Maybe he'd calm down if she left.

But then, she would be going against her plan, which was to not leave the house unless she had to. And it wasn't like he told her to leave. Besides, there wasn't much out there more attractive than a man who could cook, and she wasn't going to miss out on that.

She sighed and opted to lounge on the sofa until she needed to get ready. Certain questions that she didn't think she'd have to consider in this relationship… arrangement?… relationship starting cropping up. What should she wear? Something conservative? Sexy? Somewhere in between? Should she wear heels, or no, since they were in her house? What about jewelry and her hair? Oh God, her hair. It probably looked like a unkempt shrub.

She sighed and walked to her bedroom. If she was going to look like she appreciated all of his hard work, she had better have gotten started fixing herself up early.

As she was sifting through her closet for a suitable dress, Phil called. "Hello, Phil."

"Hi, Melinda." Hearing him sound so out of breath brought a knowing smirk to her face.

"Partaking in strenuous exercises, are we?"

He cleared his throat, which only made her smirk more. "I, uh, yes. But she has a show tonight, so I'm starting to get ready for that. Just thought I'd give you a call to check in."

"Everything's going better than a few days ago."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes. I have a date." She mentally cursed when she couldn't hide her excitement.

"That's great. You sound really excited."

She sighed and shrugged her shoulders, as if he could see. "I'm… intrigued. Ward is making these big plans for tonight, so we'll see."

"Ward? So, you two finally kissed and made up, huh."

She didn't appreciate him making light of that very delicate situation. "It was a lot more than that, but yes, essentially. I still plan on having that talk with him to explain myself."

"Good, good. I hope everything goes well. I really don't want any unnecessary tension on my plane. Sexual or otherwise."

"There you go again," she said with an eye roll. "_Your_ plane?"

She could tell he was smiling. "Fine, May, _your_ plane. Still, I don't want any tension on it."

"That's more like it. And I agree. There won't be any from Ward and I. …So, how are the kids?"

"I don't want to talk about them," he answered immediately and in a pointed tone, making her raise an eyebrow.

"They in any trouble?"

"They went to Vegas. Simmons called me yesterday to confess everything they did the night before another time. "Simmons broke the number one rule for Vegas."

"I know, but I didn't have the heart to tell her. Skye can be quite… demonstrative when she's drunk."

She didn't reply, but she was already making mental notes to pry as much information on the subject as she could. It sounded like a good story. "Well, anyway, what should I wear?"

"Sounds like you're trying to cheat."

"I'm not cheating; I just have no idea what to wear when having a formal dinner date in my house."

"Okay, then." He paused for long moment to think it over. She assumed, anyway. "A dress."

"No shit, Phil. What kind? Formal, casual, sexy… what?" she asked, completely serious up until he started laughing.

"That's one word that I never thought I'd hear come out of your mouth."

"Never had a reason to. Now, stop stalling Coulson."

"You seriously want my help with this. …what about all three?"

"You are of no help to me at all," she lamented with a scoff. She rummaged through her closet until she found one that strangely fit his blase suggestion. "I think I found something."

"Your welcome."

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the mounds of help and support, Phil. Should I wear this pearl necklace you gave me?"

"You sure Ward will be okay with that?"

She thought for moment. "Guess not. I don't have any other jewelry besides the stuff you gave me."

"Then don't wear any if it makes you uncomfortable. Besides, he might start asking questions."

"I'll have to tell him eventually. That's something that I shouldn't keep secret for long."

"You're right. I hope you have a good night, Melinda. Talk tomorrow?"

A coy smirk touched her lips. "We'll see. Might be busy tomorrow."

* * *

Another three hours passed, and it was time for their date. Melinda had already showered and was dressed in a simple yet elegant short black dress. She reached down to pickup the pearl necklace she wanted to wear when she noticed that her hand was shaking. She frowned at it and tried to will it to stop.

Nerves. Why was she nervous? All they were going to do was eat, dance, give/receive a foot rub, and then maybe have sex. All things they had done before. Well, eat and have sex, anyway. They ate together all the time on the Bus. The others were usually with them, sure, but there were times when they were alone. And they've definitely had sex before. It was the reason this whole thing started in the first place.

So, why was she nervous?

"Ugh."

She slipped the necklace on and ran a comb through her hair on more time. She then took a few minutes to make sure her make up was straight, spritzed on some perfume and checked her heels. _I hope he likes this dress. Of course he will. _

She looked herself in the mirror and smiled. The smile faded and was replaced by an annoyed grimace. "Dammit, look at you. Glowing like you're going to prom." She rolled her eyes at herself and walked out.

If she hadn't already known where the food was, the whirlwind of smells emanating from the kitchen would have led her right to it. "Mmm, smells good."

Grant, who was leaning over the clear glass table decorated with a perfectly cooked pot roast and various greens and vegetables, turned and smiled. "Thanks. You look…," he looked her up and down, his smile growing as he combed over her outfit, "…amazing." He pulled a bottle of white wine from am ice bucket on the counter and poured them both a glass. He placed the bottle down next to the gorgeous floral arrangement in the center of the table.

He didn't look half himself in his black shirt and khaki slacks. "Thank you. I think you've outdone my expectations." He visibly relaxed and pulled her seat out. Soft, tranquil music was playing in the living room.

"I wasn't sure what kind of music you liked other than this, so…"

"It's fine, so long as you have music we can dance to." As they began to eat, she became slightly more reserved and quiet. Not out of boredom, as he had prepared quite a nice meal, but because she was sorting out just what she wanted to say and how to say it. She knew that she shouldn't tell him about Coulson, unless he asked.

"So, you said you didn't know how to tell me that you liked me," he said out of the blue, "care to explain why?"

She sighed. This was a good start. "I like to keep things simple. The simpler the secondary and tertiary things in life are, the easier it is to keep focused on the primary things. When those things become complicated, I risk losing focus on what's truly important. Our relationship prior to… this was simple. We have sex at night, we forget the next morning, we concentrate on our jobs until the next time. Simple. When… things started to come up about a week before our dealings with AIM, they started to get complicated. AIM and Rappaccini only made that worse. When you got hurt, I was forced to face that, and… didn't want to admit that I had allowed things to get complicated. I couldn't handle it, because I was afraid that liking you was going to cause my other, more important work to deteriorate. To the point that I would be forced to end it. So, I did."

He was silent for a while, chewing over what she said. With all of her cards on the table for him to see, she could breath more easily. It felt good to finally have her reasons, her true reasons, out in the open. "So, in a bid to keep things simple, you ended them at the Hub?"

"Long story short, yes."

"Why didn't you just say that, instead of being… well, a bitch?"

She hid her grimace and shrugged. "Then I would have to admit that you got to me."

"Like you did this morning?" he countered.

"Ward, I just said that I liked you. Which I do. Like I do Fitz and Barton." She smirked coyly when he rolled his eyes.

He let out an exasperated huff. "May, why can't you just be honest?"

"Because, like I said, I like keeping things simple."

"You mean having to constantly fight your true feelings for me won't be a distraction? That that won't make things _more_ complicated for you?"

"You know, I really don't appreciate you poking holes in my logic."

"Then you shouldn't make it so easy."

"I'll have you know that I've already come to terms with my… attraction for you."

"Of course you are. You wouldn't be sleeping with me if you weren't attracted. I'm talking about more than attraction." She didn't look up from her plate until she noticed him looking at her expectantly.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" he inquired, taken aback by her sudden reversal.

"What about you and your not being able to tell me how _you_ felt?"

"Oh. Well, you see, I like keeping things simple. The simpler the secondary and tertiary –"

"Ward."

"Fine. I know that you don't do love, so I hid it out of fear that you'd break things off."

_Cute._ She smirked outwardly, but inwardly, she couldn't help but feel a little guilty. "So, you love me."

"I didn't say that," he replied quickly, but coolly.

"You did the other night." Her guilt was replaced by amusement at his dumbstruck expression. "Three times."

"We had sex?" he asked incredulously.

"Nope. You said it out of the blue, when I was bringing you back to here."

She heard him curse under his breath. "I was drunk."

"Obviously."

"Drunk people say stupid shit."

"That they otherwise wouldn't have the balls to say sober." She learned forward and pursed her lips temptingly. "Do you love me, Ward?" While it may have seemed like she was teasing him, she really did need to know.

He grew more and more flustered as his eyes took in her seductive expression. "I… How did this suddenly become about me?"

"Don't change the subject, Agent. Do you, or don't you? A simple yes or no will suffice."

He rattled expression faded quickly. "Maybe," he answered with unabated amusement.

She leaned back, clearly displeased with his noncommital answer. "Then maybe I love you, too."

"Maybe I'm ecstatic to hear that."

"Maybe I'm absolutely giddy that you're ecstatic." She really was. It was a fight to hide the wide, girlish grin that wanted to appear.

Desperate to change the subject, he changed gears. "What else did I do or say the other night?"

She stifled a laugh. "You got into a bar fight." He groaned, eliciting a snarky chuckle. "Apparently, you won, since you were the only one conscious. By the way, you should thank me for convincing the bar owner not to press charges against you."

He blinked. "Thanks."

"Doesn't make us even, but it isn't worth watching you shrink to Coulson's wrath. Not to mention Fury."

"God. What was I thinking?"

"You said something about defending my honor." She took on final bite of her pot roast. "Good."

"Thank you. Um, you weren't annoyed by that, were you?" She raised an eyebrow. "Right. Of course you were."

"It's not like I don't appreciate the sentiment," she placated. She held her hand out over the table. "And the thought of you getting into a fight because of me is… touching?"

He snorted and touched her hand. "You don't believe that for a second."

"I don't, but you feel bad enough as it is." She finished her only glass of wine and stood up. "Dance with me? I'll tell you about what happened while you were out."

He nodded and led her to the living room. While he changed the music too something more classical, she said, "Before I start, I'll preface this by saying that what happened is all your fault."

"Oh, is that so?" he asked as he approached her and placed on hand on her waist and held the other out.

"Absolutely. I take no responsibility for what you made me do." She placed one of her hands on his shoulder and took the other in her free grasp. Their bodies began to move in rhythm with the music.

"Because I can tell you what to do."

"No. But you did that time. Anyway, it all started when you… when you died. I felt like it was my fault, so I was feeling guilty and wanted to kill Rappaccini. I seriously contemplated torturing the AIM doctor that we captured when they found us."

"How badly?"

"Pulling her eyelids off, breaking a few fingers, making her swallow some of her teeth. The usual stuff. I didn't, probably for the best. We eventually found where Rappaccini was and I…" She found that she didn't want to think about what that monster made her do. The Cavalry, not Ward. She clutched his shirt tightly as she gained a faraway stare.

She didn't even consider them long enough to hear their protests. The only feeling she felt was the gentle strain of her finger pulling the trigger faster and more times than she cared remember.

"Melinda?"

"…killed them."

"You killed someone?"

She nodded slowly. "A dozen. At the AIM base in Colorado. Hand left it out of the briefing. Out of respect, I guess." She swallowed and kept her gaze to the floor, on his chest, anywhere but his eyes. Shame filled hers, and she didn't want him to see it. "They were on their knees, surrendering. I killed them when they couldn't defend themselves."

She felt him pull her closer to him. She didn't resist. "That's… in the past now. I'll help you move on when you're ready." She was grateful that he didn't say something patronizing. He understood, better than most, what she was dealing with. The guilt of the past molding their presents and trying to pave a new path to the future. "You helped me. I'm going to help you."

"Thank you, but I'm not finished yet. When I found Rappaccini, I lost it. I wanted to kill her and I very nearly did." Her voice quivered and shook, making his rub her lower back. She didn't like showing weakness to anyone. It colored the image she worked so hard to build; one of the tough as nails woman who didn't cry or bow to anyone. Here, in his arms, it felt right to finally let go. To finally show the weakness that she fought so hard to hide. Because he understood, because she had seen his own weakness. They didn't judge one another because they were alike in so many ways.

"If it had have been me, there wouldn't be a very nearly," he replied, voice dark for just a moment.

She smiled softly. "It was a good call for you to take my place. But, for as much help as she provided, it wouldn't have made a difference."

He smiled back. They grew silent, allowing the music to flow through them and dictate the sway of their bodies. She breathed in deeply, inhaling his scent. He smelled like oceans again. She hummed softly. "Can I ask why you decided to do all of that?"

"I couldn't handle the guilt. I was angry that you were hurt," she answered easily. Too easily.

"The _whole_ truth, Melinda." His hand wiggled out of her grip and joined its companion on her lower back. She felt a fire beginning to pulse in her chest.

She swallowed and breathed in shakily. "I missed you," she said quietly. "I missed you and I didn't know how to handle it." She felt him gently press his lips to her forehead.

"I'm here now, so you don't have to try and handle it anymore."

"Yes I do. Hand took me off of the mission, so I stayed behind and was in your room for most of the time. I was afraid for when you would wake up."

"Why?"

Her arms went around his back so she could hold him tightly. "Because when you woke up, you'd… I'd have to confront everything I was trying to hide. I couldn't do what I wanted to do to you when I saw you because that would have brought with it things that I wasn't ready for." The pulsating fire was growing hotter and more concentrated with each word. She kept her eyes down, because the urge to do something very stupid was growing by the second.

"What would you have done?" She didn't answer, because once she did there was no going back. "Melinda," he whispered softly. He reached over and tilted her chin upward so she would look at him. She looked into his eyes. They were clouded with the same thing as before. Want. Lust. For her. Only for her.

"I…" She couldn't stop the red flush from spreading over her cheeks. She leaned up and pressed her lips against his. And then, something snapped inside her. All of her restraint and control when around her broke and melted away into a sea of lust that engulfed her life a floating piece of wood in a tidal wave.

Her arms flew around his neck and pulled him down to her level so she could deepen their embrace as much as possible. For as much as she had wanted to do this, her thoughts and fantasies paled in comparison. He was an amazing kisser, just like she hoped he was.

His fingers carded through her hair and slid down her shoulders until they reached and tugged on the zipper on the back of her dresser. That, plus her lungs' cry for air, made her break the kiss. Their eyes met, but they said nothing. They both wanted the same thing, so there was no point in wasting time. They kissed again, this time harder but more briefly. She broke it again, and then kicked off her heels and walked to the bedroom while he turned off the music and the lights.

She sat on the bed and he was on top of her almost immediately. "So, that's what you would've done," he said breathing heavily.

She just nodded.

He placed a few butterfly kisses along her neck. "My turn to do what I want to you," he whispered huskily in her ear. She hummed softly.

"Fuck me," she whispered back. He grinned pruriently.

_**A/N: **__Obviously, the next chapter will be M rated._


	27. Want

_**Want**_

When Grant made plans for their date earlier today, he had small hopes that end this way. Of course, he didn't get his hopes too high, for fear of rejection. Well, not so much rejection as her not being in the mood for sex. He should have known that thinking that was ridiculous, since they'd had basically been apart for a week. As short as it sounded, if she liked him as much as he liked her, then it must have been unbearable to see him laid up.

She'd be waiting to work out her frustrations for a long while. His lips spread into a prurient grin as he nipped and kissed her neck. She didn't bother to stifle her moan. His hand slipped between her legs, making her gasp softly. "What are you doing?" she asked. He smiled internally when he noted the hint of impatience in her voice.

"Just a little foreplay."

"Fuck foreplay. Takes too long." He grinned impishly. "Grant," she protested.

"Melinda, do you have any idea how tasty you look right now? Why can't I taste you for a little?" Without even bothering to wait for her answer, he went back to nipping at her neck. Her soft yelp cut off any reply she had, anyway. He reached behind her and unzipped her dress, slowly. He was becoming aroused just by imagining seeing her body again. He kissed her again as he pulled her dress down to her waist.

"Grant," she whined.

"That's my name," he joked as he kissed her breasts. He peppered kisses on between them before taking one of her nipples into his mouth. "Mmm, so good," he mumbled. She gripped his hair and tried to tug him back, but ended up just holding him in place when he bit down softly. He moved on to the other, while rolling the previous one between his forefinger and thumb.

"Unf, that's good," she panted.

He smirked and moved to plant more kisses on her chest and collarbones before moving to pull her dress completely off. He raised his eyebrows at her pink lacy panties.

"You like them?" He nodded silently and bent down to kiss her flat stomach. He progressively got lower with his kisses until his lips just grazed her pelvis. "Maybe a little," she acquiesced hungrily.

He bit his bottom lip and pulled her panties down when she lifted her hips up. For the first time, when he was sober, he was staring directly at Melinda's sex. It was the closest thing to perfection that he has ever seen. The following items on that list also belonged on her body, for the record. He licked his lips and inhaled its scent, but was otherwise speechless.

"Cat got your tongue?" she asked coquettishly.

"I'd say it certainly does," he replied with a smirk. He ran his tongue up and down her sex, lapping up what juices were present from his work on her breasts. This was the first time he had done this with her, so her taste was new to him. It was amazing how good she tasted. He opened her up with his middle finger and thumb and lapped the wetting organ while massage her clit with his forefinger.

The sounds she was making sent chills up his spine. A messy combination of moans, cries and curses all tumbled out of her agape mouth at the same time, making a jumbled symphony of erotic sound effects that he used to spur his work. Her hand shot down and cupped the back of his head the best it could.

A particular motion sent a jolt up her spine, making her back arch. "You like that?" he asked, knowing full well she did.

She groaned something that sounded like a yes and tugged at his hair. Her breathing became more shallow, and her legs began twitching. He grinned. Time to make her scream. He stopped lapping and stuck a finger from his free hand inside her without warning. Grinning evilly at her surprised yell, he slid another finger in and started pumping as fast as he could. Any protest she had prepared just fell apart almost instantly into an incoherent cry of pleasure that had his erection pulsating.

Her inner walls started clinching around his fingers. He grinned. She was so close, all it would take was one more move, "Come for me," he commanded. His fingers curled, scratching her inner walls and apparently hitting some special spot.

"OH GOD!" Her back arched as she came hard. He could feel her clamping down his fingers.

"Guess you needed that," he said as he slid his fingers out. Soaked with Melinda's essence, he stuck one in his mouth to savor her taste.

"Guh… yes, I… Wow," she said, dazed and slightly out of it. He chuckled and took that opportunity to quickly takes his clothes off. "T-top drawer." He followed her pointed finger and pulled out a SHIELD brand condom from the drawer. Something about SHIELD making condoms was highly amusing. "Where did you learn to do all of that?" she asked after a moment to collect herself.

He smirked. "You'd be amazed at how much a guy can learn from foreign women ." He saw her frown. "You're jealous?"

"Of course not. Lie down." She was, but he wasn't going to ruin it. He lied down and flinched when she suddenly attacked his neck while straddling him.

"Your hands are cold," he groaned as she grabbed his manhood to align herself over it. He could feel himself prodding her moist mound before she lowered herself down on him. He groaned softly until he was fully sheathed. "Oh, Melinda."

"That's my name," she parroted before getting into a better position and then bouncing on him. The feel of her slick walls tightly by gently caressing his aching shaft was like no other. They had done this plenty of times before, but only just now was he able to fully appreciate, and comprehend, how good she felt.

He grabbed her hips and helped her drive herself down on him. The sound her pelvis colliding with his thighs resonated throughout the room, symphonizing with the rhythmic creak of the bedsprings and bang of the headboard against the wall. He could hear her muttering dirty talk under her breath as she rode him, authoritative commands mixed with sweet nothings that sent his chest into an inferno. "God. Fuck!"

Her nails dug into and scratched his chest as his hips bucked upward to meet her head on. Her moans and curses sounded harmonious; he couldn't take it and needed more. With sudden speed, he wrapped his arms around her waist and flipped them over so that he was on top. "Hell…" she started, but it died when he began to drive into her at a slow, loving pace,

The look in her hooded eyes was mesmorizing. "You're so beautiful," he whispered as he sped his pace up a little, opting to make love to her than outright fuck her. After all she had been through, she needed as much ecstasy as he did. Which was also the real reason for the foreplay.

"Mmm… Grant," she said between gasps. He thrust again and she cried out. He must have hit that spot again. He tried again and she cried out more loudly. "Yes! Right there!" she begged.

He complied with gusto, increasing his pace again and making a concerted to hit that spot over and over and over again. Aim like the skilled marksman he was, he struck it repeatedly, reducing her to a muddle of screaming rapture. Her nails clawed at his back, adding to the already faded scars from times past. "Almost there?"

Her answer came by way of another cry and her walls clinching around him tightly. She hugged him tightly as she rode out her orgasm, during which he slowed his pace down again. The way she was writhing under him, crying out his name like it was some kind of sacred text had him teetering precariously along his own edge. "Melinda," he whispered into her ear. He kissed her, passionately and lovingly. His tongue slipped into her mouth and wrestled with her for dominance. His hips bucked wildly and his arms shook. His groan escaped and she gasped softly and locked her gaze into his as he exploded inside her. Their foreheads touched and fell into another kiss until his orgasm was over.

Being drunk, the sex was great. Sober, it was beyond words. He wanted to remember everything, every little detail, every face she made as he made love to her. He wanted to remember the sound of his name rolling off her tongue, hearing it and knowing that it was Melinda May sent chills up his spine. He wanted to recall fondly the look on her face and the sound of her innocent gasp when he came in her.

He could and he would. At least until the next time.

He kissed her again and then pulled out. She whimpered softly as his presence dissipated within her. His mouth opened to say something, but all that did was a content sigh. That was all that needed to be said. The sheets rustled softly when he untucked them and slipped under them. He pulled her into an embrace and allowed her head to rest on his chest. Their hot, sweaty bodies practically merged together for as tightly as they were holding each other.

Pale moonlight leaked in through the partially open blinds, bathing the room in its magnificence. She looked utterly divine in the post-sex bliss that they both found themselves enfolded in. His hand softly and slowly caressed the soft skin of her lower back, coaxing a soft sigh from her. Everything about her; the lying because she couldn't handle her emotions, her sharp, matter of fact assessment on anything and everything, her uncanny ability to be hard edged and yet soft and affection at the same time; it all drove him crazy. A good crazy. A crazy he could have gotten used to.

She looked up at him and flashed a rare genuine smile. He smiled back and gently rubbed her cheek, brushing a lock of sweaty hair our of her face. "I love you," he whispered.

Her smile grew into a full grin. A girlish grin that he hadn't thought he would ever see on her. It was a good look. "I love you, too." She kissed him softly one last time before closing her eyes and falling asleep.

He stayed up a little while longer, watching her silently. He knew that what they had just admitted would change everything. Whether it was better or worse remained to be seen. He really didn't care, though. The woman lying on him, asleep in his arms was his only concern. They were still breaking protocol. That much he couldn't deny. It was rare for him to do it on purpose, and every time, it was more than worth it.

_**A/N:**__ Well, let me be the first to say that it's about time :) _


	28. A New Protocol

_**A/N:**__ This is the last chapter, guys._

_**A New Protocol **_

As usual, Melinda was the first one up that morning. Instead of, as before, simply being able to stand from the bed and put her clothes on, she found herself wrapped in Grant's muscular arms. She didn't mind, not at all. Things were quickly changing between them, and that was just one of many. She felt a smile forming on her lips as she gently traced circles on his chest. She finally admitted that she loved him, and felt like it was the most obvious decision she had ever made.

He shifted slightly as he began to bestir from her soft tracing. She smiled again and watched his eyes flutter open. "Good morning," she greeted quietly.

"Mornin', beautiful," he muttered in reply.

Everything that had happened last night was still fresh in her mind. It was nice to finally have those memories not be accompanied by terrible memories of missions gone wrong. Her hand touched his chest, right above where his heart was. It was still beating strong. She had gotten a scare when she almost lost him, but, as Coulson liked to say, every tragedy carried with it a silver lining. "Sleep well?" Today, the question didn't care a layer of bitterness with it.

"Fantastically," he replied. "You?"

"Same."

If not for Rappaccini, if Coulson had have saved them in time, then she wouldn't have been forced to deal with her feelings, and this wouldn't have happened. Of course a lot of other stuff wouldn't have happened, it came down to it, she decided that she would take the bad that didn't stack up to the good.

"Good. Did you enjoy last night?"

She saw the knowing smirk on his lips and smirked herself. "The food was pretty good. You're a fair dancer, too."

"That's it?"

She pretended to think, and then nodded. "Yes. That's it."

"Those are the only things that stuck out to you?"

She shrugged. "Suppose so. Why? Did we do something else?" She was playing dumb, of course. Last night was absolutely amazing, and she knew that he knew that she knew it. So much tension had been building up inside her and last night was what she needed to work it out. But, it was a lot more than just stress relief. For the first time, there was actual love in their sex. It wasn't just two people fucking, but two people who loved each other consummating that love.

His eyes glazed over with an animalistic air. "Alright. I'll just have to jog your memory." With that and without any actual warning, her pinned her on her back and started sucking on her neck.

She laughed and clawed at his neck. She hadn't intended on having morning sex, but she was still up for it. "Wait. I think it's starting to come back to me."

He grunted out a laugh and kissed her tenderly. "You wanted morning sex, should have just asked. Now you've gone and hurt my manly ego." He slid between her legs and reached down to massage her sex.

She cooed softly and licked her lips. "And? What are you gonna do to redeem yourself?"

He grinned pruriently and stabbed himself inside her without warning. She cried out as her walls were forced to accommodate his manhood on short notice. "You won't be able to walk when I'm done with you," he whispered softly. His pace was steady, but not fast by any stretch. Good. She wanted to feel him in her as long as possible.

"You talk big shit," she breathed out, "can your dick back it up?"

"Ask your pussy when I'm done with it," he grunted back. She grinned and pulled him down into another kiss. Their tongues wrestled for dominance, and he was nice enough to swallow the moans that were trickling from her mouth into his.

"Mmm, Grant! Harder!" she commanded huskily. He lovingly obliged and thrust his hips into her as hard as he could. Her moans turned into cries of passion and she wrapped her arms around his back to hold him close. Pressure was building up inside her like a bomb, pulsating and heating rapidly with each loving caress. "Oh God! Grant!" Her orgasm felt like a tidal wave had exploded in her stomach. Electric jolts surged throughout her body and knocked any sense she had out the door.

"That fast, huh?" he gloated. She managed to roll her eyes.

Like the considerate lover he was, he slowed his pace down to give her a chance to collect her senses. He pressed his forehead against hers. She stared into his chocolate brown eyes, looking right into the palpable passion and lust that they carried for her. Hers widened a little when he picked his pace up again. She grunted every time their bodies collided, creating an erotic melody of passion that was only enhanced by the rhythmical creaking of the bedsprings.

Her mouth babbled soundless dirty talk, commanding him to do anything and everything that her deviated mind thought of. This was where Grant Ward brought her. Long gone were the days of just having quick sex and moving on. Now, she wanted it to last all day, until she couldn't feel her legs anymore. She already knew that she was going to miss his presence when he finished, but she pushed that out of her mind and locked eyes with him again. They were cloudy and starting to glaze over.

They were also burning fires of passion boring straight into her. The intensity brought with it a soft blush to her cheeks and a tingle in her nether regions. He erratically thrusted again before loosing an animalistic growl as he released inside her. She gasped softly and grunted as the pressure of his release pushed her over the edge. Her walls clamped down on him, milking him dry and leaving him a wobbily, exhausted heap that barely managed to fall beside her. As quickly as he entered, he was gone and, as predicted, she missed it.

She breathed heavily and gave him a congratulatory pat on the stomach. "I think… I think I can get used to this."

"You mean you're not already?" She glanced at him and spotted a soft grin. She couldn't help but grin back.

"Not used to being sober. But I think I, and my liver, can cope."

* * *

After a shower and a light breakfast, Melinda flopped down on the sofa. It didn't take long for her lost puppy named Grant to follow her. She watched him sit down next to her and decided to get right to business. "As much as I love what's happened in the last twelve hours or so, this changes nothing. It can't. As soon as we step foot on the Bus, it's back to the way things were."

Though her tone was professional and serious, she truly hated every word of that. As good as it would have been to start acting like her normal self and not her old normal self from a decade ago, she had come to enjoy acting like a lovesick teenager all over again. Still, if she kept it up, the others were sure to catch on. "You understand?"

He nodded sharply. "We should amend our rules."

"Right. So, still no sex on the Bus. Flirting is confined to the cockpit –"

"Broad flirting." She raised an eyebrow. "I plan on subtly flirting with you in front of the others."

"No," she stated in a bid to nip in it the bud. He pouted, making her laugh. "We can't underestimate them. Especially Skye. Do you want her to tease you more than she already does? I don't."

He sighed defeatedly. "Oh, alright. No flirting except in the cockpit."

She patted his knee. "No PDAs on the Bus, or anywhere where the team might be. Can't risk it." He nodded. "When we're on assignment, we focus on that and only that. I think that now that we're on the same page, fantasizing shouldn't be an issue." He nodded again. "And absolutely no one can know about this. No matter how much you want to brag about 'banging Melinda May', no." He grinned, but nodded.

"Besides, I'd hate to see what Coulson would do to me if he found out we're together." She raised an eyebrow to mask her guilt. He misread it and chuckled. "See, me, Skye and FitzSimmons all agree that you and Coulson were married back in the day, but divorced for whatever reason. Nothing serious, you know, just the kids goofing around."

She could have smacked herself. His speculation was very nearly dead on. "He's okay with it," she mumbled.

"I'm sorry? Didn't catch that." His tone said he did and couldn't believe what she said. Still, she repeated herself.

"He's okay with it."

He looked absolutely floored. "Wait, you told him?" She nodded. "You told him?!"

"Yes, Grant, I told him." His eyes grew to saucers and all the color began to drain from his face. Her eyes rolled at his dramatics. "It isn't that big a deal."

"Not a big deal? This is our supervising officer, and he knows I'm sleeping with his ex-wife."

"Fiancée."

"It's the same –" His eyes, somehow, grew even wider than before. "You… you were engaged? To Coulson?"

"Please don't tell me you're jealous. It was years ago."

His socks were completely knocked off. "I… I'm… not. I just… wow."

Her eyes rolled a second time. "Yeah, so he knows and is okay with it. He'd better be, considering he's fucking some woman in Portland, probably as we speak."

"Wait, what?"

"That's a story for another time, but it involves Tony Stark and a cellist. Anyway, that's all the rules that I can think of."

"Yeah… yeah, that all sounds good." He looked like his mind had been completely blown away. She smirked and crawled into his lap.

"Relax. That's long over now. I can barely tolerate you, but both of you?" She scoffed lightly while flashing him a coy smirk.

He smirked back. "Oh, it's down to tolerate, is it?" He wrapped his arms around her waist and pecked her cheek. "Because last night, you said something _completely_ different."

"I was drunk. Obviously." She smiled slyly and kissed him. "My toleration is on par with a normal woman's love," she explained as if it were a proven fact.

His eyebrows raised, as if surprised. "Is that so? Well, I can't wait to see what love is for Melinda May."

"You won't." She touched their foreheads together and smiled sweetly. "I don't do love, remember?"

He smiled back. She could definitely get used to this.

* * *

_**A/N:**__Now__ I bring the story to a close. I'd like to thank each and every one of you guys for all the support that you've shown. I can definitely say that I couldn't have done it without you all. :)_


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